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THE 


Seven Little Sisters 


WHO LIVE ON THE ROUND BALL THAT 
FLOATS IN THE AIR 

JANE ANDREWS 


WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS 

SUPERVISOR IN BOSTON PUBLIC SCHOOLS 


■mug 13 i893‘ 

wash«*S^5^/ 

BOSTON, U.S.A. 

GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHED/® 

1893 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year t86i, by 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 

Copyright, 1887, 

By EMILY R. ANDREWS. 

All rights reserved. 


The Seven Little Sisters. 


FOR 

fflg €f)rce ILittle iFrienlis, 
MARNIE, BELL, AND GEORDIE, 

1 HAVE WRITTEN THESE STORIES. 


/ 



CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Memorial of Miss Jane Andrews 7 

The Ball itself 27 

The Little Brown Baby, the Youngest of the 

Seven Sisters 31 

Agoonack, the Esquimau Sister, and how she ' 
lived through the Long Darkness. ... 35 

How Agoonack lives through the Long Sun- 
shine 'I 44 

Gemila, the Child of the Desert ...... 48 

The Little Mountain Maiden 67 

The Story of Pen-se 80 

The Little Dark Girl who lives in the Sun- 
shine 94 

•Louise, the Child of the Beautiful River Rhine, 108 
Louise, the Child of the Western Forest . . 121 

The Seven Little Sisters 137 



MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 

By LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS. 


Perhaps the readers and lovers of this little 
book will be glad of a few pages, by way of intro- 
duction, which shall show them somewhat of Miss 
Andrews herself, and of her way of writing and 
teaching, as an old friend and schoolmate may try 
to tdl it ; and, to begin with, a glimpse of the 
happy day when she called a few of her friends 
together to listen to the stories contained in this 
volume, before they were offered to a publisher. 

Picture to yourselves a group of young ladies in 
one of the loveliest of old-fashioned parlors, look- 
ing out on a broad, elm-shaded street in the old 
town of Newbury port. The room is long and 
large, with wide mahogany seats in the four deep 
windows, ancient mahogany chairs, and great book- 

* Born December i, 1833. Died July 15, 1887. 


7 


1 


8 MEMORIAL OR MISS JANE ANDREWS. 


case across one side of the room, with dark pier- 
tables and centre-table, and large mirror, — all of 
ancestral New England solidity, and rich simpli- 
city ; some saintly portraits on the wall, a- modern 
easel in the corner accounting for fine bits of 
coloring on canvas, crayon drawings about the 
room, and a gorgeous fire-screen of autumn tints ; 
nasturtium vines in bloom glorifying the south 
window, and German ivy decorating the north 
corner ; choice books here and there, not to look 
at only, but to be assimilated ; with an air of quiet 
refinement and the very essence of cultured 
homeness pervading all ; — this is the meagre out- 
line of a room, which, having once sat withiit, you 
would wish never to see changed, in which many 
pure and noble men and women have loved to 
commune with the lives which have been so blent 
with all its suggestions that it almost seems a 
part of their organic^ being. 

But it was twenty-five years ago that this circle 
of congenial and expectant young people were 
drawn together in the room to listen to the first 
reading of the MSS. of “The Seven Little Sis- 
ters.” I will not name them all ; but one whose 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 9 

youthful fame and genius were the pride of all, 
Harriet Prescott (now Mrs. Spofford), was Jane’s 
friend and neighbor for years, and heard most of 
her books in MSS. They were all friends, and 
in a very sympathetic and eager attitude of mind, 
you may well believe : for in the midst, by the 
centre-table, sits Jane, who has called them to- 
gether ; and knowing that she has really written a 
book, each' one feels almost that she herself has 
written it in some unconscious way, because each 
feels identified with Jane’s work, and is ready to 
be as proud of it, and as sure of it, as all the world 
is now of the success of Miss Jane Andrews’s writ- 
ings for the boys and girls in these little stories of 
geography and history which bear her name. 

I can see Jane sitting there, as I wish you 
could, with her MSS. on the table at her side. 
She is very sweet and good and noble looking, 
with soft, heavy braids of light-brown hair care- 
fully arranged on her fine shapely head ; her fore- 
head is full and broad ; her eyes large, dark blue, 
and pleasantly commanding, but with very gentle 
and dreamy phases interrupting their placid decis- 
ion of expression ; her features are classic and 


10 MEMORIAL OF MISS JAAE ANDREWS. 


firm in outline, with pronounced resolution in the 
close of the full lips, or of hearty merriment in 
the open laugh, illuminated by a dazzle of well-set 
teeth ; her complexion fresh and pure, and the 
whole aspect of her face kind, courageous, and 
inspiring, as well as thoughtful and impressive. 
The poise of her head and rather strongly built 
figure is unusually good, and suggestive of health, 
dignity, and leadership ; yet her manners and voice 
are so gentle, and her whole demeanor so benevo- 
lent, that no one could be offended at her taking 
naturally the direction of any work, or the plan- 
ning of any scheme, which she would also be 
foremost in executing. 

But there she sits looking up at her friends, 
with her papers in hand, and the pretty business- 
like air that so well became her, and bespeaks the 
extreme criticism of her hearers upon what she 
shall read, because she really wants to know how 
it affects them, and what mistakes or faults can be 
detected ; for she must do her work as well as 
possible, and is sure they are willing to help. Her 
sister Emily has made all the lovely little pictures 
for illustration, except the chamois which her 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 1 1 


friend Mrs. Harriet Hale copied from her ivory 
paper-folder, and the Esquimau sled, which Mr. 
Hale, her life-long friend, drew from a cut in 
“ Kane’s Arctic Explorations.” (By the way, the 
little picture of Louise in “Each and All,” with 
her knitting, always seemed to me very much like 
a daguerreotype of Jane at the age of twelve or 
thirteen.) “You see,” says Jane, “I have dedi- 
cated the book to the children I told the stories to 
first, when the plan was only partly in my mind, 
and they seemed to grow by telling, till at last 
they finished themselves; and the children seemed 
to care so much for them, that I thought if they 
were put into a book other children might care for 
them too, and they might possibly do some good 
in the world.” 

Yes, those were the points that always indi- 
cated the essential aim and method of Jane’s 
writing and teaching, the elements out of which 
sprang all her work ; viz., the relation of her mind 
to the actual individual children she knew and 
loved, and the natural growth of her thought 
through their sympathy and the accretion of all 
she read and discovered while the subject lay 


12 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS, 


within her brooding brain, as well as the single 
dominant purpose to do some good in the world. 
There was definiteness as well as breadth in her 
way of working all through her life. 

I wish I could remember exactly what was said 
by that critical circle ; for there were some quick 
and brilliant minds, and some pungent powers of 
appreciation, and some keen-witted young women 
in that group. Perhaps I might say they had all 
felt the moulding force of some very original and 
potential educators as they had been growing up 
into their young womanhood. Some of these were 
professional educators of lasting pre-eminence : 
others were not professed teachers, yet in the 
truest and broadest sense teachers of very wide 
and wise and inspiring influence ; and of these 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson had come mere 
intimately and effectually into formative relations 
with the minds and characters of those gathered 
in that sunny room than any other person. They 
certainly owed much of the loftiness and breadth 
of their aim in life, and their comprehension of 
the growth and work to be accomplished in the 
world, to his kind and steady instigation. I wish 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 


I could remember what they said, and what Jane 
said ; but all that has passed away. I think some- 
body objected to the length of the title ; which 
Jane admitted to be a fault, but said something 
of wishing to get the idea of the unity of the 
world into it as the main idea of the book. I 
only recall the enthusiastic delight with which 
chapter after chapter was greeted ; we declared 
that it was a fairy tale of geography, and a work 
of genius in its whole conception, and in its 
absorbing interest of detail and individuality ; and 
that any publisher would demonstrate himself an 
idiot who did not want to publish it. I remember 
Jane’s quick tossing back of the head, and puzzled 
brow which broke into a laugh, as she said, 
“ Well, girls, it can’t be as good as you say: there 
must be some faults in it.” But we all exclaimed 
that we had done our prettiest at finding fault, 
that there wasn’t a ghost of a fault in it. For the 
incarnate beauty and ideality and truthfulness of 
her little stories had melted into our being, and 
left us spell-bound, till we were one with each 
other and her ; one with the Seven Little Sis- 
ters, too, and they seemed like our very own 


14 MEMORIAL OF MISS JA.XE ANDREWS. 


little sisters. So they have rested in our imagi- 
nation and affection as we have seen them grow 
into the imagination and affection of generations 
of children since, and as they will continue to 
grow until the old limitations and barrenness of 
the study of geography shall be transfigured, and 
the earth seem to the children an Eden which 
love has girdled, when Gemila, Agoonack, and 
the others shall have won them to a knowledge 
of the brotherhood of man and the fatherhood of 
God. 

I would like to bring before young people who 
have read her books some qualities of her mind 
and character which made her the rare woman, 
teacher, and writer that she was. I knew her 
from early girlhood. We went to the same schools, 
in more and more intimate companionship, from 
the time we were twelve until we were twenty 
years of age; and our lives and hearts were “grap- 
pled ” to each other “with links of steel” ever 
after. She was a precocious child, early matured, 
and strong in intellectual and emotional experi- 
ences. She had a remarkably clear mind, orderly 
and logical in its processes, and loved to take up 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 1 5 

hard problems. She studied all her life with 
great joy and earnestness, rarely, if ever, baffled 
in her persistent learning except by ill-health. 
She went on at a great pace in mathematics for a 
young girl ; every step seemed easy to her. She 
took every thing severe that she could get a 
chance at, in the course or out of it, — surveying, 
navigation, mechanics, mathematical astronomy, 
and conic sections, as well as the ordinary course in 
mathematics ; the calculus she had worked through 
at sixteen under a very able and exact teacher, and 
took her diploma from W. H. Wells, a master who 
allowed nothing to go slip-shod. She was absorbed 
in studies of this kind, and took no especial inter- 
est in composition or literature, beyond what was 
required, and what was the natural outcome of a 
literary atmosphere and inherited culture ; that 
is, her mind was passively rather than actively 
engaged in such directions, until later. At the 
normal school she led a class which has had a 
proud intellectual record as teachers and workers. 
She was the easy victor in every contest : with an 
inclusive grasp, an incisive analysis, instant gen- 
eralization, a very tenacious and ready memory, 


1 6 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS, 


and unusual talent for every eEort of study, she 
took and held the first place as a matter of course 
until she graduated, when she gave the valedictory 
address. This valedictory was a prophetic note 
in the line -of her future expression ; for it gave a 
graphic illustration of the art of teaching geogra- 
phy, to the consideration of which she had been 
led by Miss Crocker’s logical, suggestive, and 
masterly presentation of the subject in the school 
course. Her ability and steadiness of working- 
power, as well as singleness of aim, attracted the 
attention of Horace Mann, who was about forming 
the nucleus of Antioch College ; and he suc- 
ceeded in gaining her as one of his promised New- 
England recruits. She had attended very little to 
Latin, and went to work at once to prepare for 
the classical requirements of a college examination. 
This she did with such phenomenal rapidity, that 
in six weeks she had fitted herself for what was 
probably equivalent to a Harvard entrance exami- 
nation in Latin. She went to Antioch, and taught 
as well as studied for a while, until her health 
gave way entirely ; and she was prostrate for years 
with brain and spine disorders. Of course this 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 17 


put an end to her college career; and on her 
recovery she opened her little school in her own 
house, which she held together until her final 
illness, and to which she devoted ner thoughts 
and energies, her endowments and attainments, 
as well as her prodigal devotion and love. 

The success of The Seven Little Sisters’* was 
a great pleasure to her, partly because her dear 
mother and friends were so thoroughly satisfied 
with it. Her mother always wished that Jane 
would give her time more exclusively to writing, 
especially as new outlines of literary work were 
constantly aroused in her active brain. She wrote 
several stories which were careful -studies in natu- 
ral science, and which appeared in some of the 
magazines. I am sure they would be well worth 
collecting. She had her plan of “ Each and All ” 
long in her mind before elaborating, and it crystal- 
lized by actual contact with the needs and intel- 
lectual instincts of her little classes. In fact, 
all her books grew, like a plant, from within out- 
wards ; they were born in the nursery of the 
schoolroom, and nurtured by the suggestions of 
the children’s interest, thus blooming in the gar. 


1 8 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE A2VDREIVS. 


den of a true and natural education. The last 
book she wrote, Ten Boys who lived on the Road 
from Long Ago to Now,” she had had in her 
mind for years. This little book she dedicated to 
a son of her sister Margaret. I am sure she gave 
me an outline of the plan fully ten years before 
she wrote it out. The subject of her mental work 
lay in her mind, growing, gathering to itself nour- 
ishment, and organizing itself consciously or un- 
consciously by all the forces of her unresting 
brain and all the channels of her study, until it 
sprung from her pen complete at a stroke. She 
wrote good English, of course, and would never 
sentimentalize, but went directly at the pith of 
the matter ; and, if she had few thoughts on a 
subject, she made but few words. I don’t think 
she did much by way of revising or recasting after 
her thought was once committed to paper. I 
think she wrote it as she would have said it, 
always with an imaginary child before her, to 
whose intelligence and sympathy it was addressed. 
Her habit of mind was to complete a thought 
before any attempt to convey it to others. This 
made her a very helpful and clear teacher and 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 19 


leader. She seemed always to have considered 
carefully any thing she talked about, and gave her 
opinion with a deliberation and clear conviction 
which affected others as a verdict, and made her 
an oracle to a great many kinds of people. All 
her plans were thoroughly shaped before execu- 
tion ; all her work was true, finished, and con- 
scientious in every department. She did a great 
deal of quiet, systematic thinking from her early 
school-days onward, and was never satisfied until 
she completed the act of thought by expression 
and manifestation in some way for the advantage 
of others. The last time I saw her, which was 
for less than five minutes accorded me by her 
nurse during her last illness, she spoke of a new 
plan of literary work which she had in mind, and 
although she attempted no delineation of it, said 
she was thinking it out whenever she felt that it 
was safe for her to think. Her active brain never 
ceased its plans for others, for working toward the 
illumination of the mind, the purification of the 
soul, and the elevation and broadening of all 
the ideals of life. I remember her sitting, ab- 
sorbed in reflection, at the setting of the sun every 


20 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 


evening while we were at the House Beautiful of 
the Peabodys ' at West Newton ; or, when at home, 
gazing every night, before retiring, from her own 
house-top, standing at her watchtower to com- 
mune with the starry heavens, and receive that 
exaltation of spirit which is communicated when 
we yield ourselves to the “essentially religious.” 
(I use this phrase, because it delighted her so 
when I repeated it to her as the saying of a child 
in looking at the stars.) 

No one ever felt a twinge of jealousy in Jane’s 
easy supremacy ; she never made a fuss about it, 
although I think she had no mock modesty in the 
matter. She accepted the situation which her 
uniform correctness of judgment assured to her, 
while she always accorded generous praise and 
deference to those who excelled her in depart- 
ments where she made no pretence of superiority. 

There were some occasions when her idea of 

* We spent nearly all our time at West Newton in a little cottage on 
the hill, where Miss Elizabeth Peabody, with her saintly mother and 
father, made a paradise of love and refinement and ideal culture for us, 
and where we often met the Hawthornes and Manns ; and we shall never 
be able to measure the wealth of intangible mental and spiritual influence 
which we received therefrom. 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS, 21 

duty differed from a conventional one, perhaps 
from that of some of her near friends ; but no one 
ever doubted her strict dealing with herself, or 
her singleness of motive. She did not feel the 
need of turning to any other conscience than her 
own for support or enlightenment, and was inflexi- 
ble and unwavering in any course she deemed 
right. She never apologized for herself in any 
way, or referred a matter of her own experience 
or sole responsibility to another for decision ; 
neither did she seem to feel the need of expressed 
sympathy in any private loss or trial. Her phi- 
losophy of life, her faith, or her temperament 
seemed equal to every exigency of disappointment 
or suffering. She generally kept her personal 
trials hidden within her own heart, .and recovered 
from every selfish pain by the elastic vigor of her 
power for unselfish devotion to the good of others. 
She said that happiness was to have an unselfish 
work to do, and the power to do it. 

It has been said that Jane’s only fault was that 
she was too good. I think she carried her unself- 
ishness too often to a short-sighted excess, break- 
ing down her health, and thus abridging her 


22 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 


opportunities for more permanent advantage to 
those whom she would have died to serve ; but it 
was solely on her own responsibility, and in con- 
sequence of her accumulative energy of tempera- 
ment, that made her unconscious of the strain 
until too late. 

Her brain was constitutionally sensitive and 
almost abnormally active ; and she more than once 
overtaxed it by too continuous study, or by a 
disregard of its laws of health, or by a stupendous 
multiplicity of cares, some of which it would have 
been wiser to leave to others. She took every- 
body’s burdens to carry herself. She was absorbed 
in the affairs of those she loved, — of her home 
circle, of her sisters’ families, and of many a needy 
one whom she adopted into her solicitude. She 
was thoroughly fond of children, and of all that 
they say and do, and would work her fingers off 
for them, or nurse them day and night. Her 
sisters’ children were as if they had been her own, 
and she revelled in all their wonderful manifesta- 
tions and development. Her friends’ children she 
always cared deeply for, and was hungry for their 
wise and funny remarks, or any hint of their indi- 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 23 

viduality. Many of these things she remembered 
longer than the mothers themselves, and took the 
most thorough satisfaction in recounting. 

I have often visited her school, and it seemed 
like a home with a mother in it. There we took 
sweet counsel together, as if we had come to the 
house of God in company ; for our methods were 
identical, and a day in her school was a day in 
mine. We invariably agreed as to the ends of 
the work, and how to reach them ; for we under- 
stood each other perfectly in that field of art. 

I wish I could show her life with all its con- 
stituent factors of ancestry, home, and surround- 
ings ; for they were so inherent in her thoughts 
and feelings that you could hardly separate her 
from thern in your consideration. But that is 
impossible. Disinterested benevolence was the 
native air of the house into which she was born, 
and she was an embodiment of that idea. To 
devote herself to some poor outcast, to reform a 
distorted soul, to give all she had to the most 
abject, to do all she could for the despised and 
rejected, — this was her craving and absorbing 
desire. I remember some comical instances of 


24 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 


the pursuance of this self-abnegation, where the 
returns were, to say the least, disappointing ; but 
she was never discouraged. It would be easy to 
name many who received a life-long stimulus and 
aid at her hands, either intellectual or moral. She 
had much to do with the development of some 
remarkable careers, as well as with the regenera- 
tion of many poor and abandoned souls. 

She was in the lives of her dear ones, and they 
in hers, to a very unusual degree ; and her life- 
threads are twined inextricably in theirs forever. 
She was a complete woman, — brain, will, affec- 
tions, all, to the greatest extent, active and unself- 
ish ; her character was a harmony of many strong 
and div^erse elements ; her conscience was a great 
rock upon which her whole nature rested ; her 
hands were deft and cunning ; her ingenious brain 
was like a master mechanic at expedients ; and in 
executive and administrative power, as well as in 
device and comprehension, she was a marvel. If 
she had faults, they are indistinguishable in the 
brightness and solidity of her whole character. 
She was ready to move into her place in any 
sphere, and adjust herself to any work God 


MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. 25 

should give her to do. She must be happy, 
and shedding happiness, wherever she is ; for 
that is an inseparable quality and function of her 
identity. 

She passed calmly out of this life, and lay at 
rest in her own home, in that dear room so full of 
memories of her presence, with flowers to deck 
her bed, and many of her dearest friends around 
her ; while the verses which her beloved sister 
Caroline had selected seemed easily to speak with 
Jane’s own voice, as they read, — 

Prepare the house, kind friends ; drape it and deck it 
With leaves and blossoms fair; 

Throw open doors and windows, and call hither 
The sunshine and soft air. 


Let all the house, from floor to ceiling, look 
Its noblest and its best; 

For it may chance that soon may come to me 
A most imperial guest. 

A prouder visitor than ever yet 
Has crossed my threshold o’er. 

One wearing royal sceptre and a crown 
Shall enter at my door ; 


26 MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREEVS, 


Shall deign, perchance, sit at my board an hour, 
And break with me my bread ; 

Suffer, perchance, this night my honored roof 
Shelter his kingly head. 

And if, ere comes the sun again, he bid me 
Arise without delay, ■ 

•And follow him a journey to his kingdom 
Unknown and far away; 

And in the gray light of the dawning morn 
We pass from out my door. 

My guest and I, silent, without farewell, 

And to return no more, — 

Weep not, kind friends, I pray ; not with vain tears 
Let your glad eyes grow dim ; 

Remember that my house was all prepared. 

And that I welcomed him. 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


THE BALL ITSELF. 


Dear children, I have heard of a wonderful 
ball, which floats in the sweet blue air, and has 
little soft white clouds about it, as it swims 
along. 

There are many charming and astonishing 
things to be told of this ball, and some of them 
you shall hear. 

In the first place, you must know that it is a 
very big ball ; far bigger than the great soft ball, 
of bright colors, that little Charley plays with on 
the floor, — yes, indeed; and bigger than cousin 
Frank’s largest football, that he brought home 
from college in the spring; bigger, too, than that 
fine round globe in the schoolroom, that Emma 


28 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


turns about so carefully, while she twists her 
bright face all into wrinkles as she searches for 
Afghanistan or the Bosphorus Straits. Long 
names, indeed ; they sound quite grand from her 
little mouth, but they mean nothing to you and 
me now. 

Let me tell you about my ball. It is so large 
that trees can grow on it ; so large that cattle can 
graze, and wild beasts roam, upon it ; so large that 
men and women can live on it, and little children 
too, — as you already know, if you have read the 
titlepage of this book. In some places it is soft 
and green, like the long meadow between the 
hills, where the grass was so high last summer 
that we almost lost Mamie when she lay down to 
roll in it; in some parts it is covered with tall and 
thick forests, where you might wander like the 
“babes in the wood,” nor ever find your way out ; 
then, again, it is steep and rough, covered with 
great hills, much higher than that high one 
behind the schoolhouse, — so high that when you 
look up ever so far you can’t see the tops of 
them ; but in some parts there are no hills at all, 
and quiet little ponds of blue water, where the 


THE BALL ITSELF. 


29 


white water lilies grow, and silvery fishes play 
among their long stems. Bell knows, for she has 
been among the lilies in a boat with papa. 

Now, if we look on another side of the ball, we 
shall see no ponds, but something very dreary. 
I am afraid you won’t like it. A great plain of 
sand, — sand like that on the seashore, only here 
there is no sea, — and the sand stretches away 
farther than you can see, on every side ; there are 
no trees, and the sunshine beats down, almost 
burning whatever is beneath it. 

Perhaps you think this would be a grand place 
to build sand-houses. One of the little sisters 
lives here; and, when you read of her, you will 
know what she thinks about it. Always the one 
who has tried it knows l^est. 

Look at one more side of my ball, as it turns 
around. Jack Frost must have spent all his long- 
est winter nights here, for see what a palace of 
ice he has built for himself. Brave men have 
gone to those lonely places, to come back and tell 
us about them ; and, alas ! some heroes have not 
returned, but have lain down there to perish of 
cold and hunger. Doesn’t it look cold, the clear 


30 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


blue ice, almost as blue as the air ? And look at 
the snow drifts upon drifts, and the air filled with 
feathery flakes even now. 

We won’t look at this side longer, but we shall 
come back again to see Agoonack in her little 
sledge. Don’t turn over yet to find the story: 
we shall come to it all in good time. 

Now, what do you think of my ball, so* white 
and cold, so soft and green, so quiet and blue, so 
dreary and rough, as it floats along in the sweet 
blue air, with the flocks of white clouds about it } 

I will tell you one thing more. The wise men 
have said that this earth on which we live is noth- 
ing more nor less than just such a ball. Of this 
we shall know when we are older and wiser, — but 
here is the little brown baby waiting for us. 


THE LITTLE BROWN BABY, 


THE YOUNGEST OF THE 
SEVEN SIS TEES. 


Far away in the warm country lives a little 
brown baby ; she has a brown face, little brown 
hands and fingers, brown body, arms, and legs, 
and even her little toes are also brown. 

And this baby wears no little frock nor apron, 
no little petticoat, nor even stockings and shoes, 
— nothing at all but a string of beads round her 
neck, as you wear your coral ; for the sun shines 
very warmly there, and she needs no clothes to 
keep her from the cold. 

Her hair is straight and black, hanging softly 
down each side of her small brown face ; nothing 
at all like Bell’s golden curls, or Mamie’s sunny 
brown ones. 

Would you like to know how she lives among 
the flowers and the birds ? 


3 * 


32 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


She rolls in the long soft grass, where the gold- 
colored snakes are at play ; she watches the young 
monkeys chattering and swinging among the 
trees, hung by the tail ; she chases the splendid 
green parrots that fly among the trees ; and she 
drinks the sweet milk of the cocoanut from a 
round cup made of its shell. 

When night comes, the mother takes her baby 
and tosses her up into the little swinging bed in 
the tree, which her father made for her from the 
twisting vine that climbs among the branches. 
And the wind blows and rocks the little bed ; and 
the mother sits at the foot of the tree singing a 
mild sweet song, and this brown baby falls asleep. 
Then the stars come out and peep through the 
leaves at her. The birds, too, are all asleep in the 
tree ; the mother-bird spreading her wings over 
the young ones in the nest, and the father-bird 
sitting on a twig close by with his head under his 
wing. Even the chattering monkey has curled 
himself up for the night. 

Soon the large round moon comes up. She, too, 
must look into the swinging bed, and shine upon 
the closed eyes of the little brown baby. She is 









J J 


THE LITTLE BROWN BABY. 


33 


very gentle, and sends her soft light among the 
branches and thick green leaves, kissing tenderly 
the small brown feet, and the crest on the head 
of the mother-bird, who opens one eye and looks 
quickly about to see if any harm is coming to the 
young ones. The bright little stars, too, twinkle 
down through the shadows to bless the sleeping 
child. All this while the wind blows and rocks the 
little bed, singing also a low song through the trees ; 
for the brown mother has fallen asleep herself, and 
left the night-wind to take care of her baby. 

So the night moves on, until, all at once, the 
rosy dawn breaks over the earth ; the birds lift up 
their heads, and sing and sing ; the great round 
sun springs up, and, shining into the tree, lifts the 
shut lids of the brown baby’s eyes. She rolls 
over and falls into her mother’s arms, who dips 
her into the pretty running brook for a bath, and 
rolls her in the grass to dry, and then she may 
play among the birds and flowers all day long ; for 
they are like merry brothers and sisters to the 
happy child, and she plays with them on the bosom 
of the round earth, which seems to love them al-. 
like a mother. 


34 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


This is the little brown baby. Do you love 
her ? Do you think you would know her if you 
should meet her some day ? 

A funny little brown sister. Are all of them 
brown ? 

We will see, for here comes Agoonack and her 
sledge. 


AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER, 

HO IV SHE LIVED THROUGH THE 
LONG DARKNESS. 


What is this odd-looking mound of stone ? It 
looks like the great brick oven that used to be in 
our old kitchen, where, when I was a little girl, I 
saw the fine large loaves of bread and the pies 
and puddings pushed carefully in with a long, flat 
shovel, or drawn out with the same when the heat 
had browned them nicely. 

Is this an oven standing out here alone in the 
snow } 

You will laugh when I tell you that it is not an 
oven, but a house ; and here lives little Agoonack. 

Do you see that low opening, close to the 
ground That is the door ; but one must creep 
on hands and knees to enter. There is another 
smaller hole above the door : it is the window. It 
has no glass, as ours do ; only a thin covering of 


35 


36 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

something which Agoonack’s father took from 
the inside of a seal, and her mother stretched 
over the window-hole, to keep out the cold and to 
let in a little light. 

Here lives our little girl ; not as the brown 
baby does, among the trees and the flowers, but 
far up in the cold countries, amid snow and ice. 

If we look off now, over the ice, we shall see 
a funny little clumsy thing, running along as fast 
as its short, stout legs will permit, trying to keep 
up with its mother. You would hardly know it 
to be a little girl, but might rather call it a white 
bear’s cub ; it is so oddly dressed in the white, 
shaggy coat of the bear which its father killed 
last month. But this is really Agoonack ; and 
you can see her round, fat, greasy little face, if you 
throw back the white jumper-hood which covers 
her head. Shall I tell you what clothes she 
wears ? 

Not at all like yours, you will say ; but, when 
one lives in cold countries, one must dress accord- 
ingly. 

First, she has socks, soft and warm ; but not 
knit of the white yarn with which mamma knits 


AGOONACK, THE ESQU/MAH SIS 7 ER. 37 


yours. Her mamma has sewed them from the 
skins of birds, with the soft down upon them 
to keep the small brown feet very warm. Over 
these come her moccasons of sealskin. 

If you have been on the seashore, perhaps you 
know the seals that are sometimes seen swim- 
ming in the sea, holding up their brown heads, 
which look much like dogs’ heads, wet and drip- 
ping. 

The seals love best to live in the seas of the 
cold countries : here they are, huddled together 
on the sloping rocky shores, or. swimming about 
under the ice, thousands and thousands of silver- 
gray coated creatures ; gentle seal-mothers and 
brave fathers with all their pretty seal-babies. 
And here the Esquimaux (for that is the name by 
which we 'Call these people of the cold countries) 
hunt them, eat them for dinner, and make warm 
clothes of their skins. So, as I told you, Agoo- 
nack has sealskin boots. 

Next she wears leggings, or trousers, of white 
bear-skin, very rough and shaggy ; and a little 
jacket or frock, called a jumper, of the same. 
This jumper has a hood, made like the little red 


38 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


riding-hoods, which I dare say you have all seen. 
Pull the hood up over the short, black hair, 
letting it almost hide the fat, round face, and you 
have Agoonack dressed. 

Is this her best dress, do you think 

Certainly it is her best, because she has no 
other ; and when she goes into the house — But 
I think I won’t tell you that yet, for there is 
something more to be seen outside. 

Agoonack and her mother are coming home to 
dinner, but there is no sun shining on the snow 
to make it sparkle. It is dark like night, and the 
stars shine clear and steady like silver lamps in 
the sky ; and far off, between the great icy peaks, 
strange lights are dancing, shootingj long rosy 
flames far into the sky, or marching in troops as 
if each light had a life of its own, and all were 
marching together along the dark, quiet sky. 
Now they move slowly and solemnly, with no 
noise, and in regular, steady file ; then they rush 
all together, flame into golden and rosy streamers, 
and mount far above the cold, icy mountain peaks 
that glitter in their light ; and we hear a sharp 
sound like, Dsah ! dsah ! and the ice glows with 





AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER. 39 

the warm color, and the splendor shines on the 
little white-hooded girl as she trots beside her 
mother. 

It is far more beautiful than the fireworks on 
Fourth of July. Sometimes we see a little of it 
here, and we say there are northern lights, and 
we sit at the window watching all the evening to 
see them march and turn and flash ; but in the 
cold countries they are far more brilliant than any 
we have seen. 

It is Agoonack’s birthday, and there is a pres- 
ent for her before the door of the house. I will 
make you a picture 
of it. “ It is a sled,” 
you exclaim. Yes, a 
sled ; but quite unlike 
yours. In the far-away cold countries no trees 
grow : so her father had no wood ; and he took 
the bones of the walrus and the whale, and bound 
them together with strips of sealskin, and he has 
built this pretty sled for his little daughter’s birth- 
day. 

It has a back to lean against and hold by ; for 
the child will go over some very rough places, and 



40 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


might easily fall from it. And then, you see, if she 
fell, it would be no easy matter to jump up again 
and climb back to her seat ; for the little sled 
would have run away from her before^ she should 
have time to pick herself up. How could it run ? 
Yes, that is the wonderful thing about it; for 
when her father made the sled he said to himself. 
By the time this is finished, the two little brown 
dogs will be old enough to draw it, and Agoonack 
shall have them ; for she is a princess, the daughter 
of a great chief.” 

Now you can see, that, with two such brisk little 
dogs as the brown puppies harnessed to the sled, 
Agoonack must keep her seat firmly, that she may 
not roll over into the snow and let the dogs run 
away with it. 

You can imagine what gay frolics she has with 
her brother who runs at her side, or how she 
laughs and shouts to see him drive his bone ball 
with his bone bat or hockey, skimming it over the 
crusty snow. 

Now we will creep into the low house with the 
child and her mother, and see how they live. 

Outside :t is very cold, colder than you have 


AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER. 41 

ever known it to be in the coldest winter’s day ; 
but inside it is warm, even very hot. And the first 
thing Agoonack and her mother do is to take off 
their clothes ; for here it is as warm as the place 
where the brown baby lives, who needs no clothes. 

It isn’t the sunshine that makes it warm, for 
you remember I told you it was as dark as night. 
There is no furnace in the cellar ; indeed, there is 
no cellar, neither is there a stove. But all this 
heat comes from a sort of lamp, with long wicks 
of moss, and plenty of walrus fat to burn. It 
warms the small house, which has but one room, 
and over it the mother hangs a shallow dish in 
which she cooks soup ; but most of the meat is 
eaten raw, cut into long strips, and eaten much as 
one might eat a stick of candy. 

They have no bread, no crackers, no apples, nor 
potatoes ; nothing but meat, and sometimes the 
milk of the reindeer, for there are no cows in 
the far, cold northern countries. But the reindeer 
gives them a great deal : he is their horse as well 
as their cow ; his skin and his flesh, his bones and 
horns, are useful when he is dead ; and while he 
lives he is their kind, gentle, and patient friend. 


43 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


There is some one else in the hut when Agoo* 
nack comes home ; a little dark ball, rolled up on 
one corner of the stone platform which is built 
all around three sides of the house, serving for 
seats, beds, and table. This rolled-up ball unrolls 
itself, tumbles off the seat, and runs to meet 
them. It is Sip-su, the baby brother of Agoo- 
nack, a round little boy, who rides sometimes, 
when the weather is not too cold, in the hood of 
his mother’s jumper, hanging at her back, and 
peering out from his warm nestling-place over the 
long icy plain to watch for his father’s' return 
from the bear-hunt. 

When the men come home dragging the great 
Nannook, as they call the bear, there is a merry 
feast. They crowd together in the hut, bringing 
in a great block of snow, which they put over the 
lamp-fire to melt into water ; and then they cut 
long strips of bear’s meat, and laugh and eat and 
sing, as they tell the long story of the hunt of 
Nannook, and the seals they have seen, and the 
foot-tracks of the reindeer they have met in the 
long valley. 

Perhaps the day will come when pale, tired 


AGOOJVACIC, THE ESQUIMAI/ SISTEE. 43 


travellers will come to their sheltering home, and 
tell them wonderful stories, and share their 
warmth for a while, till they can gain strength 
to go on their journey again. 

Perhaps while they are so merry there al- 
together a very great snowstorm will come and 
cover the little house, so that they cannot get out 
for several days. When the storm ends, they dig 
out the low doorway, and creep again into the 
starlight ; and Agoonack slips into her warm 
clothes, and runs out for Jack Frost to kiss her 
cheeks, and leave roses wherever his lips touch. 
If it is very cold indeed, she must stay in ; or 
Jack Frost will give her no roses, but a cold, 
frosty bite. 

This is the way Agoonack lives through the 
long darkness. But I have to tell you more of 
her in another chapter, and you will find it is not 
always dark in the cold Northern countries. 


HOW AGOONACK LIVES THROUGH 
THE LONG SUNSHINE. 


It is almost noon one day when Agoonack’s 
mother wraps the little girl in her shaggy clothes, 
and climbs with her a high hill, promising a pleas- 
ant sight when they shall have reached the top. 

It is the sun, the beautiful, bright, round sun, 
which shines and smiles at them for a minute, 
and then slips away again below the far frozen 
water. 

They haven’t seen him for many months, and 
now they rejoice, — for the next day he comes 
again and stays longer, and the next, and the 
next, and every day longer and longer, until at 
last he moves above them in one great, bright 
circle, and does not even go away at all at night. 
His warm rays melt the snow, and awaken the 
few little hardy flowers that can grow in this 
short summer. The icy coat breaks away from 


44 


nOlV AGOONACK LIVES. 


45 


the clear running water, and great flocks of birds, 
with soft white plumage, come, like a snowstorm 
of great feathery flakes, and settle among the 
black rocks along the seashore. Here they lay 
their eggs in the many safe little corners and 
shelves of the rock ; and here they circle about 
in the sunshine, while the Esquimau boys make 
ready their long-handled nets, and creep and 
climb out upon the ledges of rock, and, holding 
up the net as the birds fly by, catch a netful to 
carry home for supper. 

The sun shines all day long, and all night long, 
too ; and yet he can’t melt all the highest snow- 
drifts, where the boys are playing bat-and-ball, — 
long bones for sticks, and an odd little round one 
for a ball. 

It is a merry life they all live while the sun- 
shine stays ; for they know the long, dark winter 
is coming, when they can no longer climb among 
the birds, nor play ball among the drifts. 

The seals swim by in the clear water, and the 
walrus and her young one are at play, and, best of 
all, the good reindeer has come ; for the sun has 
uncovered the crisp moss upon which he feeds, 


46 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


and he is roaming through the valleys where it 
grows among the rocks. 

The old men sit on the rocks, in the sunshine, 
and laugh and sing, and tell long stories of the 
whale and the seal, and the great white whale, 
that many years ago, when Agoo'nack’s father was 
a child, came swimming down from the far north, 
where they look for the northern lights, swim- 
ming and diving through the broken ice ; and they 
watched her in wonder, and no one would throw a 
harpoon at this white lady of the Greenland seas, 
for her visit was a good omen, promising a mild 
winter. 

Little Agoonack comes from her play to crouch 
among the rocky ledges and listen to the stories. 
She has no books ; and, if she had, she couldn’t 
read them. Neither could her father or mother 
read to her : their stories are told and sung, but 
never written. But she is a cheerful and contented 
little girl, and tries to help her dear friends ; and 
sometimes she wonders a great while by herself 
about what the pale stranger told them. 

And now, day by day, the sun is slipping away 
from them ; gone for a few minutes to-day, to- 


I/OPV AGOONACK LIVES. 


47 


morrow it will stay away a few more, until at last 
there are many hours of rosy twilight, and few, 
very few, of clear sunshine. 

But the children are happy : they do not dread 
the winter, but they hope the tired travellers have 
reached their homes ; and Agoonack wants, oh, so 
much ! to see them and help them once more. 
The father will hunt again, and the mother will 
tend the lamp and keep the house warm ; and, 
although they will have no sun, the moon and 
stars are bright, and they will see again the 
streamers of the great northern light. 

Would you like to live in the cold countries, 
with their long darkness and long sunshine.^ 

It is very cold, to be sure ; but there are happy 
children there, and kind fathers and mothers, and 
the merriest sliding on the very best of ice and 


snow. 


GEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE 
DESERT. 


It is almost sunset ; and Abdel Hassan has 
come out to the door of his tent to enjoy the 
breeze, which is growing cooler after the day’s 
terrible heat. The round, red sun hangs low over 
the sand ; it will be gone in five minutes more. 
The tent-door is turned away from the sun, and 
Abdel Hassan sees only the rosy glow of its light 
on the hills in the distance which looked so purple 
all day. He sits very still, and his earnest eyes 
are fixed on those distant hills. He does not 
move or speak when the tent-door is again pushed 
aside, and his two children. Alee and Gemila, 
come out with their little mats and seat them- 
selves also on the sand. You see the dear chil- 
dren in the picture. How glad they are of the long, 
cool shadows, and the tall feathery palms ! how 
pleasant to hear the camels drink, and to drink 


48 


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GEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT 49 


themselves at the deep well, when they have car- 
ried some fresh water in a cup to their silent 
father! He only sends up blue circles of smoke 
from his long pipe as he sits there, cross-legged, 
on a mat of rich carpet. He never sat in a chair, 
and, indeed, never saw one in his life. His chairs 
are mats; and his house is, as you have heard, a 
tent. 

Do you know what a tent is ? 

I always liked tents, and thought I should enjoy 
living in one ; and when I was a little girl, on 
many a stormy day when we couldn’t go to school, 
I played with my sisters at living in tents. We 
would take a small clothes-horse and tip it down 
upon its sides, half open ; then, covering it with 
shawls, we crept in, and were happy enough for 
the rest of the afternoon. I tell you this, that 
you may also play tents some day, if you haven’t 
already. 

The tent of Gemila’s father is, however, quite 
different from ours. Two or three long poles hold 
it up, and over them hangs a cloth made of goat’s- 
hair, or sometimes sheepskins, which are thick 
enough to keep out either heat or cold. The ends 


50 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


of the cloth are fastened down by pegs driven 
into the sand, or the strong wind coming might 
blow the tent away. The tent-cloth pushes back 
like a curtain for the door. Inside, a white cloth 
stretched across divides this strange house into 
two rooms ; one is for the men, the other for the 
women and children. In the tent there is no fur- 
niture like ours ; nothing but mats, and low cush- 
ions called divans ; not even a table from which 
to eat, nor a bed to sleep upon. But the mats and 
the shawls are very gorgeous and costly, and we 
are very proud when we can buy any like them for 
our parlors. And, by the way, I must tell you 
that these people have been asleep all through 
the heat of the day, — the time when you would 
have been coming home from school, eating your 
dinner, and going back to school again. They 
closed the tent-door to keep out the terrible blaze 
of the sun, stretched themselves on the mats, and 
slept until just now, when the night-wind began 
to come. 

Now they can sit outside the tent and enjoy the 
evening ; and the mother brings out dates and 
little hard cakes of bread, with plenty of butter 


GEM/LA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT. 51 


made from goat’s milk. The tall, dark servant- 
woman, with loose blue cotton dress and bare 
feet, milks a camel ; and they all take their supper, 
or dinner perhaps I had better call it. They have 
no plates, nor do they sit together to eat. The 
father eats by himself : when he has finished, the 
mother and children take the dates and bread 
which he leaves. We could teach them better 
manners, we think ; but they could teach us to 
be hospitable and courteous, and more polite 
to strangers than we are. 

When all is finished, you see there are no 
dishes to be washed and put away. 

The stars have come out ; and from the great 
arch of the sky they look down on the broad 
sands, the lonely rocks, the palm-trees, and the 
tents. Oh, they are so bright, so steady, and so 
silent, in that great, lonely place, where no noise 
is heard ! no sounds of people or of birds or 
animals, excepting the sleepy groaning of a camel, 
or the low song that little Alee is singing to his 
sister, as they lie upon their backs on the sand, 
and watch the slow, grand movement of the stars 
that are always journeying towards the west. 


52 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


Night is very beautiful in the desert ; for this 
is the desert, where Abdel Hassan the Arab 
lives. His country is that part of our round ball 
where the yellow sands stretch farther than eye 
can see ; and there are no wide rivers, no thick 
forests, and no snow-covered hills. The day is too 
bright and too hot : but the night he loves ; it is 
his friend. 

He falls asleep at last out under the stars, and, 
since he has been sleeping so long in the day- 
time, can well afford to be awake very early in 
the morning : so, while the stars still shine, and 
there is only one little yellow line of light in the 
east, he calls his wife, children, and servants, and 
in a few minutes all is bustle and preparation ; 
for to-day they must take down the tent, and 
move, with all the camels and goats, many miles 
away. For the summer heat has nearly dried up 
the water of their little spring under the palm- 
trees, and the grass that grew there is also en- 
tirely gone ; and one cannot live without water to 
drink, particularly in the desert, nor can the 
goats and camels live without grass. 

Now, it would be a very bad thing for us, if 


GEM I LA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT 53 

some day all the water in our wells and springs 
and ponds should dry up, and all the grass on 
our pleasant pastures and hills should wither 
away. 

What should we do ? Should we have to pack 
all our clothes, our books, our furniture and food, 
and move away to some other place where there 
were both water and grass, and then build new 
houses ? Oh, how much trouble it would give us ! 
No doubt the children would think it great fun ; 
but as they grew older they would have no pleas- 
ant home to remember, with all that makes 
‘‘ sweet home ” so dear. 

And now you will see how much better it is 
for Gemila’s father than if he lived in a house. 
In a very few minutes the tent is taken down ; 
the tent-poles are tied together, the covering is 
rolled up with the pegs and strings which fastened 
it, and it is all ready to put up again whenever 
they choose to stop. As there is no furniture to 
carry, the mats and cushions only are to be rolled 
together and tied ; and now Achmet, the old 
servant, brings a tall yellow camel. 

Did you ever see a camel ? I hope you have 


54 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


some time seen a living one in a menagerie ; but, 
if you haven’t, perhaps you have seen a picture 
of the awkward-looking animal with a great hump 
upon his back, a long neck, and head thrust for- 
ward. A boy told me the other day, that, when 
the camel had been long without food, he ate his 
hump : he meant that the flesh and fat of the 
hump helped to nourish him when he had no 
food. 

Achmet speaks to the camel, and he immedi- 
ately kneels upon the sand, while the man loads 
him with the tent-poles and covering; after which 
he gets up, moves on a little way, to make room 
for another to come up, kneel, and be loaded with 
mats, cushions, and bags of dates. 

Then comes a third ; and while he kneels, 
another servant comes from the spring, bringing 
a great bag made of camel’s-skin, and filled with 
water. Two of these bags are hung upon the 
camel, one on each side. This is the water for 
all these people to drink for four days, while they 
travel through a sandy, rocky country, where 
there are no springs or wells. I am afraid the 
water will not taste very fresh after it has been 


GEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT. 55 

kept so long in leather bags ; but they have noth- 
ing else to carry it in, and, besides, they are used 
to it, and don’t mind the taste. 

Here are smaller bags, made of goat’s-skin, and 
filled with milk ; and when all these things are 
arranged, which is soon done, they are ready to 
start, although it is still long before sunrise. 
The camels have been drinking at the spring, 
and have left only a little muddy water, like that 
in our street-gutters ; but the goats must have 
this, or none at all. 

And now Abdel Hassan springs upon his beau- 
tiful black horse, that has such slender legs and 
swift feet, and places himself at the head of this 
long troop of men and women, camels and goats. 
The women are rjding upon the camels, and so 
are the children ; while the servants and camel- 
drivers walk barefooted over the yellow sand. 

It would seem very strange to you to be 
perched up so high on a camel’s back, but Gemila 
is quite accustomed to it. When she was very 
little, her mother often hung a basket beside her 
on the camel, and carried her baby in it : but now 
she is a great girl, full six years old ; and when 


56 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

the camel kneels, and her mother takes her place, 
the child can spring on in front, with one hand 
upon the camel’s rough hump, and ride safely 
and pleasantly hour after hour. Good, patient 
camels ! God has fitted them exactly to be of the 
utmost help to the people in that desert country. 
Gemila for this often blesses and thanks Him 
whom she calls Allah. 

All this morning they ride, — first in the bright 
starlight ; but soon the stars become faint and dim 
in the stronger rosy light that is spreading over 
the whole sky, and suddenly the little girl sees 
stretching far before her the long shadow of the 
camels, and she knows that the sun is up : for we 
never see shadows when the sun is not up, unless 
it is by candlelight or moonlight. The shadows 
stretch out very far before them, for the sun is 
behind. When you are out walking very early in 
the morning, with the sun behind you, see how 
the shadow of even such a little girl as you will 
reach across the whole street ; and you can ima- 
gine that such great creatures as camels would 
make even much longer shadows. 

Gemila watches them, and sees, too, how the 


GEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT 57 

white patches of sand flush in the morning light ; 
and she looks back where far behind are the tops 
of their palm-trees, like great tufted fans, standing 
dark against the yellow sky. 

She is not sorry to leave that old home. She 
has had many homes already, young as she is, and 
will have many more as long as she lives. The 
whole desert is her home ; it is very wide and 
large, and sometimes she lives in one part, some- 
times in another. 

As the sun gets higher, it begins to grow very 
hot. The father arranges the folds of his great 
white turban, a shawl with many folds, twisted 
round his head to keep off the oppressive heat. 
The servants put on their white fringed handker- 
chiefs, falling over the head and down upon the 
neck, and held in place by a little cord tied round 
the head. It is not like a bonnet or hat, but one 
of the very best things to protect the desert trav- 
ellers from the sun. The children, too, cover 
their heads in the same way, and Gemila no longer 
looks out to see what is passing : the sun is too 
bright ; it would hurt her eyes, and make her head 
ache. She shuts her eyes and falls half asleep. 


58 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


sitting there high upon the camel’s back. But, if 
she could look out, there' would be nothing to 
see but what she has seen many and many times 
before, — great plains of sand or pebbles, and 
sometimes high, bare rocks ; not a tree to be 
seen, and far off against the sky, the low purple 
hills. 

They move on in the heat, and are all silent. 
It is almost noon now ; and Abdel Hassan stops, 
leaps from his horse, and strikes his spear into the 
ground. The camel-drivers stop, the camels stop 
and kneel, Gemila and Alee and their mother dis- 
mount. The servants build up again the tent 
which they took down in the morning ; and, after 
drinking water from the leathern bags, the family 
are soon under its shelter, asleep on their mats, 
while the camels and servants have crept into the 
shadow of some rocks and ^lin down in the sand. 
The beautiful black horse is in the tent with his 
master ; he is treated like a child, petted and fed 
by all the family, caressed and kissed by the chil- 
dren. Here they rest until the heat of the day 
has past ; but before sunset they have eaten their 
dates and bread, loaded again the camels, and are 


GEM/LA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT 59 

moving, with the beautiful black horse and his 
rider at the head. 

They ride until the stars are out, and after, but 
stop for a few hours’ rest in the night, to begin 
the next day as they began this. Gemila still 
rides upon the camel ; and I can easily understand 
that she prays to Allah with a full heart under the 
shining stars so clear and far, and that at the call 
to prayer in the early dawn her pretty little veiled 
head is bent in true love and worship. But I 
must tell you what she sees soon after sunrise on 
this second morning. Across the sand, a long 
way before them, something with very long legs 
is running, almost flying. She knows well what 
it is, for she has often seen them before ; and she 
calls to one of the servants, “ See, there is the 
ostrich ! ” and she claps her hands with delight. 

The ostrich is a great bird, with very long legs 
and small wings ; and as legs are to run with, and 
wings to fly with, of course he can run better 
thail he can fly. But he spreads his short wings 
while running, and they are like little sails, and 
help him along quite wonderfully ; so that he runs 
much faster than any horse can. 


6o 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


Although he runs so swiftly, he is sometimes 
caught in a very odd way. I will tell you how. 

He is a large bird, but he is a very silly one ; 
and, when he is tired of running, he will hide his 
head in the sand, thinking that because he can 
see no one he can’t be seen himself. Then the 
swift-footed Arab horses can overtake him ; and 
the men can get his beautiful feathers, which you 
must have often seen, for ladies wear them in 
their bonnets. 

All this about the ostrich. Don’t forget it, my 
little girl : sometime you may see one, and will be 
glad that you know what kind of a fellow he is. 

The ostrich which Gemila sees is too far away 
to be caught ; besides, it will not be best to turn 
aside from the track which is leading them to a 
new spring. But one of the men trots forward 
on his camel, looking to this side and to that as he 
rides ; and at last our little girl, who is watching, 
sees his camel kneel, and sees him jump off and 
stoop in the sand. When they reach the place, 
they find a sort of great nest, hollowed a little in 
the sand ; and in it are great eggs, almost as big 
as your head. The mother ostrich has left them 


GEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT 6 1 


there. She is not like other mother-birds, that 
set upon the eggs to keep them warm ; but she 
leaves them in the hot sand, and the sun keeps 
them warm ; and by and by the little ostriches will 
begin to chip the shell, and creep out into the 
great world. 

The ostrich eggs are good to eat. You eat your 
one egg for breakfast, but one of these big eggs 
will make breakfast for the whole family. And 
that is why Gemila clapped her hands when she 
saw the ostrich : she thought the men would find 
the nest, and have fresh eggs for a day or two. 

This day passes like the last : they meet no 
one, not a single man or woman ; and they move 
steadily on towards the sunset. In the morning 
again they are up and away under the starlight ; 
and this day is a happy one for the children, and, 
indeed, for all. 

The morning star is yet shining, low, large, and 
bright, when our watchful little girl’s dark eyes 
can see a row of black dots on the sand,— -so 
small you might think them nothing but flies ; 
but Gemila knows better. They only look small 
because they are far away ; they are really men 


62 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


and camels, and horses too, as she will soon see 
when they come nearer. A whole troop of them ; 
as many as a hundred camels, loaded with great 
packages of cloths and shawls for turbans, carpets 
and rich spices, and the beautiful red and green 
morocco, of which, when I was a little girl, we 
sometimes had shoes made, but we see it oftener 
now on the covers of books. ' 

All these things belong' to the Sheik Hassein. 
He has been to the great cities to buy them, and 
now he is carrying them across the desert to sell 
again. He himself rides at the head of his com- 
pany on a magnificent brown horse ; and his dress 
is. so grand and gay, that it shines in the morning 
light quite splendidly. A great shawl with golden 
fringes is twisted about his head for a turban ; and 
he wears, instead of a coat, a tunic broadly striped 
with crimson and yellow, while a loose flowing 
scarlet robe falls from his shoulders. His face is 
dark, and his eyes keen and bright ; but little of 
his straight black hair hangs below the fringes 
of his turban ; but his beard is long and dark, and 
he really looks very magnificent sitting upon his 
fine horse, in the full morning sunlight. 


C£iV//LA, the child of the desekt. 63 

Abdel Hassan rides forward to meet him, and 
the children from behind watch with great 
delight. 

Abdel Hassan takes the hand of the sheik, 
presses it to his' lips and forehead, and says, 
“ Peace be with you.” 

Do you see how different this is from the hand- 
shakings and “How-do-you-do’s”- of the gentle- 
men whom we know ! Many grand compliments 
are offered from one to another, and they arc very 
polite and respectful. Our manners would seem 
very poor beside theirs. 

Then follows a long talk, and the smoking of 
pipes ; while the servants make coffee, and serve 
it in little cups. 

Hassein tells Abdel Hassan of the wells of 
fresh water which he left but one’s day’s journey 
behind him, and he tells of the rich cities he has 
visited. Abdel Hassan gives him dates and salt 
in exchange for cloth for a turban, and a brown 
cotton dress for his little daughter. 

It is not often that one meets men in the 
desert, and this day will long be remembered by 
the children 


64 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


The next night, before sunset, they can see the 
green feathery tops of the palm-trees before them. 
The palms have no branches, but only great clus- 
ters of fern-like leaves at the top of the tree, 
under which grow the sweet dates. 

Near those palm-trees will be Gemila’s home 
for a little while, for here they will find grass and 
a spring. The camels smell the water, and begin 
to trot fast ; the goats leap along over the sand, 
and the barefooted men hasten to keep up with 
them. 

In an hour more the tent is pitched under the 
palm-trees, and all have refreshed themselves 
with the cool, clear water. 

And now I must tell you that the camels have 
had nothing to drink since they left the old 
home. The camel has a deep bag below his 
throat, which he fills with water enough to last 
four or five days : so he can travel in the desert 
as long as that, and sometimes longer, without 
drinking again. Yet I believe the camels are 
as glad as the children to come to the fresh 
spring. 

Gemila thinks so at night, as she stands under 


CEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT. 65 


the starlight, patting her good camel Simel, and 
kissing his great lips. 

The black goats, with long silky ears, are 
already cropping the grass. The father sits again 
at the tent-door, and smokes his long pipe ; the 
children bury their bare feet in the sand, and 
heap it into little mounds about them ; while the 
mother is bringing out the dates and the bread 
and butter. 

It is an easy thing for them to move : they are 
already at home again. But although they have 
so few cares, we do not wish ourselves in their 
place ; for we love the home of our childhood, 
“ be it ever so humble,” better than roaming like 
an exile. 

But all the time I haven't told you how Gemila 
looks, nor what clothes she wears. Her face is 
dark ; she has a little straight nose, full lips, and 
dark, earnest eyes ; her dark hair will be braided 
when it is- long enough. On her arms and her 
ankles are gilded bracelets and anklets, and she 
wears a brown cotton dress loosely hanging half- 
way to the bare, slender ankles. On her head 
the white fringed handkerchief, of which I told 


66 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


you, hangs like a little veil. Her face is pleasant, 
and when she smiles her white teeth shine be- 
tween her parted lips. 

She is the child of the desert, and she loves 
her desert home. 

I think she would hardly be happy to live in a 
house, eat from a table, and sleep in a little bed 
like yours. She would grow restless and weary 
if she should live so long and so quietly in one 
place. 



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THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN. 


I WANT you to look at the picture on the 
opposite page. It is a little deer : its name is 
the chamois. Do you see what delicate horns it 
has, and what slender legs, and how it seems to 
stand on that bit of rock, and turn its head to look 
in your face ? 

Last summer I saw a little chamois like that, 
and just as small : it was not alive, but cut or 
carved of wood, — such a graceful, pretty little 
plaything as one does not meet every day. 

Would you like to know who made it, and 
where it came from ? 

It was made in the mountain country, by the 
brother of my good Jeannette, the little Swiss 
maiden. 

Here among the high mountains she lives with 
her father, mother, and brothers ; and far up 


67 


o8 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


among those high snowy peaks, which are seen 
behind the house, the chamois live, many of them 
together, eating the tender grass and little pink- 
colored flowers, and leaping and springing away 
over the ice and snow when they see the men 
coming up to hunt them. 

I will tell you by and by how it happened that 
Jeannette’s tall brother Joseph carved this tiny 
chamois from wood. But first you must know 
about this small house upon the great hills, and 
how they live up there so near the blue sky. 

One would think it might be easier for a child 
to be good and pure so far up among the quiet 
hills, and that there God would seem to come 
close to the spirit, even of a little girl or boy. 

On the sides of the mountains tall trees are 
growing; pine and fir trees, which are green in 
winter as well as in summer. If you go into the 
woods in winter, you will find that almost all 
the trees have dropped their pretty green leaves 
upon the ground, and are standing cold and naked 
in the winter wind ; but the pines and the firs 
keep on their warm green clothes all the year 
round. 


THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN 69 


It was many years ago, before Jeannette was 
born, that her father came to the mountains with 
his sharp axe and cut down some of the fir-trees. 
Other men helped him ; and they cut the great 
trees into strong logs and boards, and built of 
them the house of which I have told you. Now 
he will have a good home of his own, for as long 
as he likes to live there ; and to it will come his 
wife and children as God shall send them, to 
nestle among the hills. 

Then he went down to the little town at the 
foot of the mountain, and when he came back, he 
was leading a brown long-eared donkey; and upon 
that donkey sat a rosy-cheeked young woman 
with smiling brown eyes, and long braids of brown 
hair hanging below a little green hat set on one 
side of her head, while beautiful rose-colored 
carnations peeped from beneath it on the other 
side. Who was this } It wasn’t Jeannette : )^ou 
know I told you this 'was before she was born. 
Can you guess, or must I tell you that it was the 
little girl’s mother } She had come up the moun- 
tain for the first time to her new home, — the 
house built of the fir and the pine, — where after 


70 


THE SEVEiM LITTLE S/SIEES. 


awhile were born Jeannette’s two tall brothers, 
and at last Jeanette herself. 

It was a good place to be born in. When she 
was a baby she used to lie on the short, sweet 
grass before the doorstep, and watch the cows and 
the goats feeding, and clap her little hands to see 
how rosy the sunset made the snow that shone on 
the tops of those high peaks. And the next 
summer, when she could run alone, she picked 
the blue-eyed gentians, thrusting her small fingers 
between their fringed eyelids, and begging them 
to open and look at little Jean ; and she stained 
her wee hands among the strawberries, and 
pricked them with the thorns of the long rasp- 
berry-vines, when she went with her mother in 
the afternoon to. pick the sweet fruit for supper. 
Ah, she was a happy little thing ! Many a fall 
she got over the stones or among the brown 
moss, and many a time the clean frock that she 
wore was dyed red with the crushed berries ; but 
oh, how pleasant it was to find them in great 
patches on the mountain-side, where the kind sun 
had warmed them into such delicious life ! I 
have seen the children run out of school to pick 



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THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN. /i 


such sweet wild strawberries, all the recess-time, 
up in the fields of Maine ; and how happy they 
were with their little stained fingers as they came 
back at the call of the bell ! 

In the black bog-mud grew the^ Alpen roses, 
and her mother said, “ Do not go there, my little 
daughter: it is too muddy for you.” But at 
night, when her brother came home from the 
chamois hunt, he took off his tall, pointed hat, 
and showed his dittle sister the long spray of 
roses twisted round it, which he had brought for 
her. He could go in the mud with his thick 
boots, you know, and never mind it. 

Here they live alone upon the mountain : there 
are no near neighbors. At evening they can see 
the blue smoke curling from the chimney of one 
house that stands behind that sunny green slope, 
a hundred yards from their door ; and they can 
always look down upon the many houses of the 
town below, where the mother lived when she 
was young. 

Many times has Jeannette wondered how the 
people lived down there, — so many together ; 
and where their cows could feed ; and whether 


72 


THE SEVEN LETTLE SISTERS. 


there were any little girls like herself, and if they 
picked berries, and had such a dear old black 
nanny-goat as hers, that gave milk for her supper, 
and now had two little black kids, its babies. 
She didn’t know about those little children in 
Maine, and that they have little kids and goats, as 
well as sweet red berries, to make the days pass 
happily. 

She wanted to go down and see some day ; and 
her father promised, that, wherf she was a great 
girl, she should go down with him on market- 
days, to sell the goat’s-milk cheeses and the sweet 
butter that her mother made. 

When the cows and goats have eaten all the 
grass near the house, her father drives them 
before him up farther among the mountains, 
where more grass is growing, and there he stays 
with them many weeks ; he does not even come 
• home at night, but sleeps in a small hut among 
the rocks ; where, too, he keeps the large clean 
milk-pails, and the little one-legged stool upon 
which he sits at morning and night to milk the' 
cows and goats. 

When the pails are full, the butter is to be 


THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN. 73 

made, and the cheese ; and he works while the 
animals feed. The cows have little bells tied to 
their necks, that he may hear and find them, 
should they stray too far. 

Many times, wlien he is away, does his little 
daughter at home listen, listen, while she sits be- 
fore the door, to hear the distant tinkling of the 
cow-bells. She is a loving little daughter ; and 
she thinks of her father so far away alone, and 
wishes he was coming home to eat some of the 
sweet strawberries and cream for supper. 

Last summer some travellers came to the house. 
They stopped at the door and asked for milk : the 
mother brought them brimming bowlsfull, and the 
shy little girl crept up behind her mother with 
her birch-bark baskets of berries. The gentlemen 
took them, and thanked her ; and one told of his 
own little Mary, at home, far away over the great 
sea. Jeannette often thinks of her, and wonders 
whether her papa has gone home to her. 

While the gentlemen talked, Jeannette’s brother 
Joseph sat upon the broad stone door-step and 
listened. Presently one gentleman, turning to 
him, asked if he would come with them over the 


74 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


mountain to lead the way ; for there are many 
wild places, and high, steep rocks, and they feared 
to get lost. 

Joseph sprang up from his low seat, and said he 
would go ; brought his tall hat and his mountain- 
staff, like a long, strong cane, with a sharp iron at 
the end, which he can stick into the snow or ice, 
if there is danger of slipping; and they went 
merrily on their way, over the green grass, over 
the rocks, far up among the snow and ice, and 
the frozen streams and rivers that pour down the 
mountain-sides. 

Joseph was brave and gay : he led the way, 
singing aloud until the echoes answered from 
every hill-side. It makes one happy to sing ; and 
when we are busy and happy we sing without 
thinking of it, as the birds do. When every thing 
is bright and beautiful in nature around us, we 
feel like singing aloud, and praising God who made 
the earth so beautiful ; then the earth also seems 
to sing of God who made it, and the echo seems 
like its answer of praise. Did you ever hear the 
echo, — the voice that seems to come from a hill or 
a house far away, repeating whatever you may 


THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN 75 

say ? Among the mountains the echoes answer 
each other again and again. Jeannette has often 
heard them. 

That night, while the mother and her little girl 
were eating their supper, the gentlemen came 
back again, bringing Joseph with them. He could 
not walk now, nor spring from rock to rock with 
his Alpen staff : he had fallen and broken his leg, 
and he must lie still for many days. But he could 
keep a cheerful face, and still sing his merry 
songs ; and as he grew better, and could sit out 
again on the broad bench beside the door, he took 
his knife and pieces of fine wood, and carved 
beautiful things, — first a spoon for his little 
sister, with gentians on the handle ; then a nice 
bowl, with a pretty strawberry-vine carved all 
about the edge. And from this bowl, and with this 
spoon, she ate her supper every night, — sweet 
milk, with the dry cakes of rye bread broken into 
it, and sometimes the red strawberries. I know 
his little sister loved him dearly, and thanked him 
in her heart every time she used the pretty things. 
How dearly a sister and brother can love each 
other I 


76 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


Then he made other things, — knives, forks, and 
plates ; and at last one day he sharpened his knife 
very sharp, chose a very nice, delicate piece of 
wood, and carved this beautiful chamois, just like 
a living one, only so small. My cousin, who was 
travelling there, bought it and brought it home. 

When the summer had passed, the father came 
down from^ the high pastures ; the butter and 
cheese making was over, and the autumn work 
was yet to be done. Do you want to know what 
the autumn work was, and how Jeannette could 
help about it I will tell you. You must know 
that a little way down the mountain-side is a 
grove of chestnut-trees. Did you ever see the 
chestnut-trees } They grow in our woods, and on 
the shores of some ponds. In the spring they are 
covered with long yellowish blossoms, and all 
through the hot summer those blossoms are at 
work turning into sweet chestnuts, wrapped safely 
in round, thorny balls, which will prick your 
fingers sadly if you don’t take care. But, when 
the frost of the autumn nights comes, it cracks 
open the prickly ball, and shows a shining brown 
nut inside ; then, if we are careful, we may j:)ull 


THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN. 77 


off the covering, and take out the nut. Some- 
times, indeed, there are two, three, or four nuts in 
one shell ; I have found them so myself. 

Now, the autumn work, which I said I would 
tell you about, is to gather these chestnuts and 
store them away, — some to be eaten, boiled, or 
roasted by the bright fire in the cold winter days 
that are coming ; and some to be nicely packed in 
great bags, and carried on the donkey down to the 
town to be sold. The boys of New England, too, 
know what good fun it is to gather nuts in the 
fall, and spread them over the garret floor to dry, 
and at last to crack and eat them by the winter 
hearth.. So when the father says one night at 
supper-time, “ It is growing cold : I think there 
will be a frost to-night,” Jeannette knows very 
well what to do ; and she dances away right early 
in the evening to her little bed, which is made in 
a wooden box built up against the side of the 
wall, and falls asleep to dream about the chestnut 
wood, and the squirrels, and the little brook that 
leaps and springs from rock to rock down under 
the tall, dark trees. 

She has gone to bed early, that she may wake 


yS THE SEVExM UttLE sisters. 


with the first daylight ; and she is out of bed in a 
minute when she hears her father’s cheerful call 
in the morning, ‘‘ Come, children, it is time to be 
off.” 

Their dinner is packed in a large basket. The 
donkey stands ready before the door, with great 
empty bags hanging at each side ; and they go 
merrily over the crisp white frost to the chestnut- 
trees. How the frost has opened the burrs ! He 
has done more than half their work for them 
already. How they laugh and sing and shout to 
each other as they gather the smooth brown nuts, 
filling their baskets, and running to pour them 
into the great bags ! It is merry autumn' work. 
The sun looks down upon them through the yel- 
low leaves, and the rocks give them mossy seats ; 
while here and there comes a bird or a squirrel to 
see what these strange people are doing in their 
wood. 

Jeannette declares that the chestnut days are 
the best in the year. Perhaps she is right. I am 
sure I should enjoy them; shouldn’t you She 
really helps, although she is but a little girl ; and 
her father says at night that his little Jean is a 


THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN, 79 


dear, good child. It makes her very kappy. She 
thinks of what he has said while she undresses at 
night, unbraiding her hair, and unlacing her little 
blue bodice with its great white sleeves ; and she 
goes peacefully to sleep, to dream again of the 
merry autumn days. And while she dreams good 
angels must be near her ; for she said her sweet 
and reverent prayer on her knees, with a full and 
thankful heart to the All-Father who gave her so 
many blessings. 

She is our little mountain sister. The moun- 
tain life is a fresh and happy one. I should like 
to stay with this little sister a long, long time. 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 


Dear children, have you ever watched the sun- 
set ? If you live in the country, I am almost sure 
you have many times delighted yourselves with 
the gold and rosy clouds. But those of you who 
live in the city do not often have the opportunity : 
the high houses and narrow streets shut out so 
much of the sky. 

I am so happy as to live in the country; and let 
me tell you where I go to see the sun set. 

The house in which I live has some dark, narrow 
garret stairs leading from the third story into a 
small garret under the roof ; and many and rhany 
a time do I go up these narrow stairs, and again 
up to the scuttle-window in the roof, open it, and 
seat myself on the top step or on the roof itself. 
Here I can look over the house-tops, and even 
over the tree-tops, seeing many things of which I 


So 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 


Si 


may perhaps tell you at some time ; but to-night 
we are to look at the sunset. 

Can you play that you are up here with me, 
looking past the houses, past the elm-trees and 
the low hills that seem so. far away, to where the 
sun hangs low, like a great red ball, so bright that 
we can hardly look at it ? Watch it with me. 
Now a little part has disappeared ; now it is half 
gone, and in a minute more we see nothing but 
the train of bright clouds it has left behind. 

Where did it go ? 

It seemed to slip down over the edge of the 
world. To-morrow morning, if you are up early, 
you will see it come back again on the other side. 
As it goes away from us to-night, it is coming to 
somebody who lives far away, round the other side 
of the world. While we had the sunshine, she had 
night ; and now, when night is coming to us, it is 
morning for her. 

I think men have always felt like following the 
sun to the unknown West, beyond its golden gate 
of setting day, and perhaps that has led many a 
wanderer on his path of discovery. Let us follow 
the sun over the rolling earth. 




THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


The sun has gone ; shall we go, too, and take a 
peep round there to see who is having morning 
now ? 

The long, bright sunbeams are sliding over the 
tossing ocean, and sparkling on the blue water of 
a river upon which are hundreds of boats. The 
boats are not like those which we see here, with 
white sails or long oars. They are clumsy, square 
looking things, without sails, and they have little 
sheds or houses built upon them. We will look 
into one, and see what is to be seen. 

There is something like a little yard built all * 
around this boat; in it are ducks — more ducks 
than you can well count. This is their bedroom, 
where they sleep at night ; but now it is morning, 
and they are all stirring, — waddling about as well 
as they can in the crowd, and quacking with most 
noisy voices. They are waking up Kang-hy, their 
master, who lives in the middle of the boat ; and 
out he comes from the door of his odd house, 
and out comes little Pen-se, his daughter, who 
likes to see the ducks go for their breakfast. 

The father opens a gate or door in the basket- 
work fence of the ducks’ house ; and they all crowd 






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THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 85 

and hurry to reach the water again, after staying 
all night shut up in this cage. There they go, 
tumbling and diving. Each must have a thorough 
bath first of all ; then the old drake leads the way, 
and they swim off in the bright water along the 
shore for a hundred yards, and then among the 
marshes, where they will feed all day, and come 
back at night when they hear the shrill whistle of 
Kang-hy calling them to come home and go to bed. 

Pen-se and her father will go in to breakfast 
now, under the bamboo roof which slides over the 
middle part of the boat, or can be pushed back if 
they desire. As Kang-hy turns to go in, and 
takes off his bamboo hat, the sun shines on his 
bare, shaved head, where only one lock of hair is 
left, that is braided into a long, thick tail, and 
hangs far down his back. He is very proud of it, 
and nothing would induce him to have it cut off. 
Now it hangs down over his loose blue nankeen 
jacket ; but, when he goes to work, he will twist it 
round upon the crown of his head, and tuck the 
end under the coil to keep it out of the way. 
Isn’t this a funny way for a man to wear his hair ? 
Pen-se has hers still in little soft curls; but by and 


84 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


by it will be braided, and at last fastened up into 
a high knot on the top of her head, as her mother’s 
is. Her little brother Lin already has his head 
shaved almost bare, and waits impatiently for the 
time when his single lock of hair will be long 
enough to braid. 

When I was a child, it was a very rare thing to 
see people such as these in our own land ; but 
now we are quite familiar with these odd ways of 
dressing, and our streets have many of these 
funny names on their signs. 

Shall we look in to see them at breakfast.^ Tea 
for the children as well as for the father and 
mother. They have no milk, and do not like to 
drink water : so they take many cups of tea every 
day. And here, too, are their bowls of rice upon 
the table, but no spoons or forks with which to 
eat it. Pen-se, however, does not need^poon or 
fork : she takes two small, smooth sticks, and, lift- 
ing the bowl to her mouth, uses the sticks like a 
little shovel. You would' spill the rice, and soil 
your dress, if you should try to do so ; but these 
children know no other way, and they have learned 
to do it quite carefully. 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 85 

The sticks are called chop-sticks ; and up in the 
great house on the hill, where Pen-se went to 
carry fish, lives • a little lady who has beautiful 
pearl chop-sticks, and wears roses in her hair. 
Pen-se often thinks of her, and wishes she might 
go again to carry the fish, and see some of the 
beautiful things in that garden with the high 
walls. Perhaps you have in your own house or in 
your schoolroom pictures of some of the pretty 
things that may have been there, — little children 
and ladies dressed in flowery gowns, with fans in 
their hands, tea-tables and pretty dishes, a great 
many lovely flowers and beautiful birds. 

But now she must not stop to think. Breakfast 
is over, and the father must go on shore to his 
work, — carrying tea-boxes to the store of a great 
merchant. Lin, too, goes to his work, of which I 
will by and by tell you ; and even Pen-se and her 
little sister, young as they are, must go with their 
mother, who has a tanka-boat in which she carries 
fresh fruit and vegetables to the big ships which 
are lying off shore. The two little girls can help 
at the oars, while the mother steers to guide the 
boat. 


86 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


I wish I could tell you how pleasant it is out on 
the river this bright morning. A hundred boats 
are moving ; the ducks and geese have all gone up 
the stream ; the people who live in the boats have 
breakfasted, and the fishermen have come out to 
their work. This is Lin’s work. He works with 
his uncle Chow ; and already his blue trousers are 
stripped above his knees, and he stands on the 
wet fishing-raft watching some brown birds : sud- 
denly one of them plunges into the water, and 
brings up a fish in its yellow bill. Lin takes it 
out, and sends the bird for another ; and such in- 
dustrious fishermen are the brown cormorants, 
that they keep Lin and his uncle busy all the 
morning, until the two large baskets are filled 
with fish, and then the cormorants may catch for 
themselves. 

Lin brings his bamboo pole, rests, it across his 
shoulders, hangs one basket on each end, and goes 
up into the town to sell his fish. Here it was that 
Pen-se went on that happy day when she saw the 
little lady in the house on the hill, and she has 
not forgotten the wonders of that day in the 
streets. 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE, 


87 


The gay sign-posts in front of the shops, with 
colors flying ; the busy workmen, — tinkers mend- 
ing or making their wares ; blacksmiths with all 
their tools set up at the corners of the streets ; 
barbers with grave faces, intently braiding the 
long hair of their customers ; water-carriers with 
deep water-buckets hung from a bamboo pole, like 
Lin’s fish-baskets ; the soldiers in their paper hel- 
mets, wadded gowns, and quilted petticoats, with 
long, clumsy guns over their shoulders ; and 
learned scholars in brown gowns, blue bordered, 
and golden birds on their caps. The high officers, 
cousins to the emperor, have the sacred yellow 
girdle round their waists, and very long braided 
tails hanging below their small caps. Here and 
there you may see a high, narrow box, resting on 
poles, carried by two men. It is the only kind of 
carriage which you will see in these streets, and 
in it is a lady going out to take the air ; although 
I am sadly afraid she gets but little, shut up there 
in her box. I would rather be like Pen-se, a poor, 
hard-working little girl, with a fresh life on the 
river, and a hard mat spread for her bed in the 
boat at night. How would you like to live in a 


88 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


boat on a pleasant river with the ducks and geese ? 
I think you would have a very jolly time, rocked 
to sleep by the tide, and watched over by the 
dancing boat-lights. But this poor lady couldn’t 
walk, or enjoy much, if she were allowed. Shall 
I tell you why } When she was a very little girl, 
smaller than you are, smaller than Pen-se is now, 
her soft baby feet were bound up tightly, the toes 
turned and pressed under, and the poor little foot 
cramped so that she could scarcely stand. This 
was done that her feet might never grow large : 
for in this country, on the other side of the world, 
one is considered very beautiful who has small 
feet ; and now that she is a grown lady, as old per- 
haps as your mamma, she wears such little shoes 
you would think them too small for yourself. It 
is true they are very pretty shoes, made of bright 
colored satin, and worked all over with gold and 
silver thread, and they have beautiful white soles 
of rice-paper; and the poor lady looks down at 
them, and says to herself proudly, “ Only three 
inches long.” And forgetting how much the band- 
ages pained her, and not thinking how sad it is 
only to be able to hobble about a little, instead of 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 


89 


running and leaping as children should, she binds 
up the feet of Lou, her dear little daughter, in the 
great house on the hill, and makes her a poor, 
helpless child ; not so happy, with all her flower- 
gardens, gold and silver fish, and beautiful gold- 
feathered birds, as Pen-se with her broad, bare 
feet, and comfortable, fat little toes, as she stands 
in the wet tanka-boat, helping her mother wash it 
with river-water, while the leather shoes of both 
of them lie high and dry on the edge of the wharf 
until the wet work is done. 

But we are forgetting Lin, who has carried his 
fish up into the town to sell. Here is a whole 
street, where nothing is sold but food. I should 
call it Market Street, and I dare say they do the 
same in a way of their own. 

What will all these busy people have for dinner 
to-day 

Fat bear’s-paws, brought from the dark forest 
fifty miles away, — these will do for that comfort- 
able looking mandarin with the red ball on the 
top of his cap. I think he has eaten something 
of the same kind before. A bird’s-nest soup for 
my lady in the great house on the hill ; bird’s 


90 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


nests brought from the rocks where the waves 
dash, and the birds feel themselves very safe. 
But “ such a delicious soup ! ” said Madam Faw- 
Choo ; and Yang-1 o, her son, sent the fisherman 
again to the black rocks for more. 

What will the spldiers have, — the officer who 
wears thick satin boots, and doesn’t look much 
like fighting in his gay silk dress } A stew of fat 
puppies for him, and only boiled rats for the 
porter who carries the heavy tea-boxes. But 
there is tea for all, and rice too, as much as they 
desire ; and, although I shouldn’t care to be in- 
vited to dine with any of them, I don’t doubt they 
enjoy the food very much. 

In the midst of all this buying and selling, Lin 
sells his fish, some to the English gentleman, and 
some to the grave-faced man in the blue gown ; 
and he goes happily home to his own dinner in 
the boat. Rice again, and fried mice, and the 
merry face and small, slanting black eyes of his 
little sister to greet him. After dinner his father 
has a pipe to smoke, before he goes again to his 
work. After all, why not eat puppies and mice 
as well as calves and turtles and oysters ? and as 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 


91 


for bird’s-nest soup, I should think it quite as 
good as chicken-pie. It is only custom that 
makes any difference. 

So pass the days of our child Pen-se, who lives 
on the great river which men call the child of the 
ocean. But it was not always so. She was born 
among the hills where the tea grows with its 
glossy, myrtle-like leaves, and white fragrant blos- 
soms. When the tea-plants were in bloom, Pen-se 
first saw the light ; and when she was hardly more 
than a baby she trotted behind her father, while 
he gathered the leaves, dried and rolled them, and 
then packed them in square boxes to come in 
ships across the ocean for your papa and mine to 
drink. 

Here, too, grew the mulberry-trees, with their 
purple fruit and white ; and Pen-se learned to 
know and to love the little worms that eat the 
mulberry-leaves, and then spin for themselves a 
silken shell, and fall into a long sleep inside of it. 
She watched her mother spin off the fine silk and 
make it into neat skeins, and once she rode on 
her mother’s back to market to sell it. You could 
gather mulberry-leaves, and set up these little 


92 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


silk-worm boxes on the window-sill of your school- 
room. I have seen silk and flax and cotton all 
growing in a pleasant schoolroom, to show the 
scholars of what linen and silk and cotton are 
made. 

Now those days are all past. She can hardly 
remember them, she was so little then ; and she 
has learned to be happy in her new home on the 
river, where they came when the fire burned their 
house, and the tea-plants and the mulberry-trees 
were taken by other men. 

Sometimes at night, after the day’s work is 
over, the ducks have come home, and the stars 
have come out, she sits at the door of the boat- 
house, and watches the great bright fireflies over 
the marshes, and thinks of the blue lake Syhoo, 
covered with lilies, where gilded boats are sailing, 
and the peojDle seem so happy. 

Up in the high-walled garden of the great 
house on the hill, the night-moths have spread 
their broad, soft wings, and are flitting among the 
flowers, and the little girl with the small feet 
lies on her silken bed, half asleep. She, too, 
thinks of the lake and the lilies ; but she knows 


THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 


93 


nothing about Pen-se, who lives clown upon the 
river. 

See, the sun has gone from them. It must be 
morning for us now. 


THE LITTLE DARK GIRL, 

PV//0 LIVES IN' THE 
SUNSHINE. 


In this part of the world, Manenko would cer- 
tainly be considered a very wild little girl. I 
wonder how you would enjoy her for a playmate. 
She has never been to school, although she is 
more than seven years old, and doesn’t know 
how to read, or even to tell her letters ; she has 
never seen a book but once, and she has never 
learned to sew or to knit. 

If you should try to play at paper dolls with 
her, she would make very funny work with the 
dresses, I assure you. Since she never wore a 
gown or bonnet or shoes herself, how should she 
know how to put them on to the doll.^ But, if 
she had a doll like herself, I am sure she would be 
as fond of it as you are of yours ; and it would 
be a very cunning little dolly, I should think. 


94 







THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 


95 


Perhaps you have one that looks somewhat like 
this little girl in the picture. 

Now I will tell you of some things which she 
can do. 

She can paddle the small canoe on the river ; 
she can help to hoe the young corn, and can 
find the vyild bees’ honey in the woods; gather 
the scarlet fruit when it is fully ripe, and falls 
frx)m the trees ; and help her mother to pound 
the corn in the great wooden mortar. All this, 
and much more, as you will see, Manenko can 
do ; for every little girl on the round world can 
help her mother, and do many useful things. 

Would you like to know more of her, — how 
she looks, and where she lives, and what she 
does all day and all night } 

Here is a little round house, with low door- 
ways, most like those of a dog’s house ; you see 
we should have to stoop in going in. Look at 
the round, pointed roof, made of the long rushes 
that grow by the river, and braided together 
firmly with strips of mimosa-bark ; fine, soft 
grass is spread all over this roof to keep out 
the rain. 


96 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


If you look on the roof of the house across 
the street, you will see that it is covered with 
strips of wood called shingles, which are laid 
one over the edge of the other ; and when it is 
a rainy day, you can see how the rain slips and 
slides off from these shingles, and runs and 
drips away from the spout. 

Now, on this little house where Manenko lives 
there are no shingles, but the smooth, slippery 
grass is almost as good ; and the rain slides 
over it, and drips away, hardly ever coming in 
to wet the people inside, or the hard beds made 
of rushes, like the roof, and spread upon the 
floor of earth. 

In this house lives Manenko, with Maunka 
her mother, Sekomi her father, and Zungo and 
Shobo her two brothers. 

They are all very dark, darker than the brown 
baby. I believe you would call them black, but 
they are not really quite so. Their lips are 
thick, their noses broad ; and instead of hair, 
their heads are covered with wool, such as you 
might see on a black sheep. This wool is 
braided and twisted into little knots and strings 


THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 


97 


all over their heads, and bound with bits of red 
string, or any gay-looking thread. They think 
it looks beautiful, but I am afraid we should 
not agree with them. 

Now we will see what clothes they wear. 

You remember Agoonack, who wore the white 
bear’s-skin, because she lived in the very cold 
country; and the little brown baby, who wore 
nothing but a string of beads, because she lived 
in the warm country. Manenko, too, lives in a 
warm country, and wears no clothes ; but on 
her arms and ankles are bracelets an^l anklets, 
with little bits of copper and iron hanging to 
them, which tinkle as she walks ; and she, also, 
like the brown baby, has beads for her neck. 

Her father and mother, and Zungo her brother, 
have aprons and mantles of antelope skins ; and 
they, too, wear bracelets and anklets like hers. 

Little Shobo is quite a baby, and runs in the 
sunshine, like his little sister, without clothes. 
Dear little Shobo ! how funny and happy he 
must look, and how fond he must be of his’ 
little sister, and our little sister, Manenko! We 
have all seen such little dark brothers and 


' 9 ^ S^lVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


sisters. His short, soft wool is not yet braided 
or twisted, but crisps in little close curls all 
over his head. 

In the morning they must be up early ; for 
the father is going to hunt, and Zungo will go 
with him. The mother prepares the breakfast ; 
small cakes of bread made from the pounded 
corn, scarlet beans, eaten with honey, and plenty 
of milk from the brown cow. She brings it in 
a deep jug, and they dip in their hands for 
spoons. 

All the meat is eaten, and to-day the men 
must go out over the broad, grassy fields for 
more. They will find the beautiful young ante- 
lope, so timid and gentle as to be far more 
afraid of you than you would of them. They 
are somewhat like small deer, striped and spot- 
ted ; and they have large, dark eyes, so soft and 
earnest you cannot help loving them. Here, 
too, are the buffalo, like large cows and oxen 
with strong horns, and the great elephants with 
long trunks and tusks. Sometimes even a lion 
is to be met, roused from his sleep by the noise 
of the hunters ; for the lion sleeps in the day- 


THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 


99 


time, and generally walks abroad only at night. 
When you are older, you can read the stories of 
famous lion and elephant hunters, and of strange 
and thrilling adventures in the “Dark Continent.” 

It would be a wonderful thing to you and me 
to see all these strange or beautiful animals, 
but Zungo and his father have seen them so 
many times that they are thinking only of the 
meat they will bring home ; and taking their 
long spears, and the basket of ground-nuts and 
meal which the mother has made ready, they 
are off with other hunters before the sun is up. 

Now the mother takes her hoe, and, calling 
her little girl to help, hoes the young corn 
which is growing on the round hill behind the 
house. I must tell you something about the 
little hill. It looks like any other hill, you 
would think, and could hardly believe that there 
is any thing very wonderful to tell about it. 
But listen to me. 

A great many years ago there was no hill 
there at all, and the ground was covered with 
small white ants. You have seen the little ant- 
houses many a time on the garden-path, and all 


lOO 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


the ants at work, carrying grains of sand in 
their mouths, and running this way and that, 
as if they were busy in the most important 
work. Oh, the little ants are very wise ! They 
seem to know how to contrive great things, and 
are never idle. “ Go to the ant ; consider her 
ways, and be wise,” said one of the world’s 
wisest men. 

Well,'on the spot where this hill now stands, 
the white ants began to work. They were not 
satisfied with small houses like those which we 
have seen ; but they worked day after day, week 
after week, and even years, until they had built 
this hill higher than the house in which I live ; 
and inside it is full of chambers and halls, and 
wonderful arched passages. They built this great 
house, but they do not live there now. I don’t 
know why they moved, — perhaps because they 
didn’t like the idea of having such near neigh- 
bors when Sekomi began to build his hut before 
their door. But, however it was, they went, and, 
patient little creatures that they are, built another 
just like it a mile or so away; and Sekomi said, 
“ The hill is a fine place to plant my early corn.” 


THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 


lOI 


There is but little hoeing to do this morning ; 
and, while the work goes on, Shobo the baby 
rolls in the grass, sucking a piece of sugar-cane, 
as I have seen children suck a stick of candy. 
Haven’t you t 

The mother has baskets to make. On the 
floor of the hut is a heap of fine twisting tree- 
roots which she brought from the forest yester- 
day ; and under the shadow of her grassy roof 
she sits before the door weaving them into 
strong, neat baskets, like the one in which the 
men carried their dinner when they went to 
hunt. While she works, other women come 
too with their work, sit beside her in the shade, 
and chatter away in a very queer sounding lan- 
guage. We couldn’t understand it at all ; but we 
should hear them always call Manenko’s mother 
Ma-Zungo, meaning Zungo’s mother, instead of 
saying Maunka, which you remember I told you 
is her name. Zungo is her oldest boy, you know j 
and ever since he was born she has been called 
nothing but Ma-Zungo, — just as if, when a lady 
comes into your school, the teacher should say, 
“This is Joe’s mother,” or “This is Teddy’s 


102 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


mamma,” so that the children should all know 
her. 

So the mother works on the baskets, and talks 
with the women ; but Manenko has heard the 
call of the honey-bird, the brisk little chirp of 
“ Chiken, chiken, chik, churr, churr,” and she is 
away to the wood to follow his call, and bring 
home the honey. 

She runs beneath the tall trees, looking up for 
the small brown bird ; then she stops and listens 
to hear him again, when close beside her comes 
the call, “ Chiken, chiken, chik, churr, churr,” 
and there sits the brown bird above a hole in 
the tree, where the bees are flying in and out, 
their legs yellow with honey-dust. It is too 
high for Manenko to reach ; but she marks the 
place, and says to herself, “ I will tell Ra when 
he comes home.” Who is Ra.? Why, that is 
her name for “father.” She turns to go home, 
but stops to listen to the wild shouts and songs 
of the women, who have left the huts, and are 
coming down towards the river to welcome their 
chief with lulliloo, praising him by such strange 
names as “Great lion,” “Great buffalo.” 


THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 103 

The chief comes from a long journey with 
the young men up the river in canoes, to hunt 
the elephant, and bring home the ivory tusks, 
from which we have many beautiful things made. 
The canoes are full of tusks ; and, while the men 
unload them, the women are shouting, “ Sleep, 
my lord, my great chief.” Manenko listens while 
she stands under the trees, — listens for only a 
minute, and then runs to join her mother, and 
add her little voice to the general noise. 

Down on the edge of the river tall reeds are 
growing, like thick, tall grass, high enough to 
wave over the heads of the men vyho are wading 
through it, bringing their ivory to shore. The 
chief is very proud and happy to bring home 
such a load ; before surlset it will all be carried 
up to the huts, the men will dress in their very 
best, and walk in a gay procession. Indeed, 
they can’t dress much : no coats or hats or 
nicely polished boots have they to put on ; but 
some will have the white ends of oxen’s tails in 
their hair, some a plume of black ostrich feathers, 
and the chief himself has a very grand cap made 
from the yellow mane of an old lion. The drum 


104 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


will beat, the women will shout, while the men 
gather round a fire, and roast and eat great 
slices of ox-meat, and tell the story of their 
famous elephant-hunt. 

How they came to the bushes with fine, silvery 
leaves and sweet bark, which the elephant eats, 
and there hiding, watched and waited many hours, 
until the ground shook with the heavy tread of a 
great mother-elephant and her two calves, coming 
up from the river, where they had been to drink. 
Their trunks were full of water ; and they tossed 
them up, spouting the water, like a fine shower- 
bath, over their hot heads and backs, and now, 
cooled and refreshed, began to eat the silvery 
leaves of the bushes. Then the hunters threw 
their spears, thick and fast ; after two hours, the 
great creature lay still upon the ground, — she 
was dead. Then the men had elephant-steak 
for dinner, and two long and white tusks to 
carry home. 

So day after day they had hunted, loading the 
canoes with ivory, and sailing far up the river ; 
far up where the tall rushes wave, twisted to- 
gether by the twining morning-glory vines ; far 


THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 


105 


up where the alligators make great nests in the 
river-bank, and lay their eggs, and stretch them- 
selves in the sunshine, half asleep inside their 
scaly armor ; far up where the hippopotamus is 
standing in his drowsy dream on the bottom of 
the river, with the water covering him, head and 
all. He is a great, sleepy fellow, not unlike a 
very large, dark-brown pig, with a thick skin and 
no hair. Here he lives under the water all day, 
only once in a while poking up his nose for a 
breath of fresh air. And here is the mother- 
hippopotamus, with her baby standing upon her 
neck, that he may be nearer the top of the water. 
Think how funny he must look. 

All day long they stand here under the water, 
half asleep ; sometimes giving a loud grunt or 
snore, and sometimes, I am sorry to say, tipping 
over a canoe which happens to float over their 
heads. But at night, when men are asleep, the 
great beasts come up out of the river, and eat 
the short, sweet grass upon the shore, and look 
about to see the world a little. Oh, what mighty 
beasts ! Men are so small and weak beside 
them. And yet, because the mind of man is 


o6 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


so much above theirs, he can rule them ; for God 
made man to be king of the whole earth, and 
greater than all. 

All these wonderful things the men have seen*; 
and Manenko listens to their stories until the 
moon is high, and the stars have almost faded in 
her light. Then her father and Zungo come home, 
bringing the antelope and buffalo meat, too tired 
to tell their story until the next day. So, after 
eating supper, they are all soon asleep upon the 
mats which form their beds. It is a hard kind 
of bed, but a good one, if you don’t have too many 
mice for bedfellows. A little, bright-eyed mouse 
is a pretty creature, but one doesn’t care to sleep 
with him. 

These are simple, happy people ; they live out 
of doors most of the time, and they love the sun- 
shine, the rain, and the wind. They have plenty 
to eat, — the pounded corn, milk and honey, and 
scarlet beans, and the hunters bring meat ; and 
soon it will be time for the wild water-birds to 
come flocking down the river, — white pelicans 
and brown ducks, and hundreds of smaller birds, 
that chase the skimming flies over the water. 


THE UTTLE DARE GIRL. to/ 

If Manenko could read, she would be sorry that 
she has no books ; and if she knew what dolls are, 
she might be longing every day for a beautiful 
wax doll, with curling hair, and eyes to open and 
shut. But these are things of which she knows 
nothing at all ; and she is happy enough in 
watching the hornets building their hanging nests 
on the branches of the trees, cutting the small 
sticks of sugar-cane, or following the honey-bird’s 
call. 

If the children who have books would oftener 
leave them, and study the wonders of the things 
about them, — of the birds, the plants, the curious 
creatures that live and work on the land and in 
the air and water, — it would be better for them. 
Try it, dear children ; open your eyes, and look 
into the ways and forms of life, in the midst of 
which God has placed you, and get acquainted 
with them, till you feel that they, too, are your 
brothers and sisters, and God your Father and 
theirs. 


LOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE BEAUTI- 
FUL RIVER RHINE. 


Have you heard pf the beautiful River Rhine? 
— how at first it hides, a little brook among the 
mountains and dark forests, and then steals out 
into the sunshine, and leaps down the mountain- 
side, and hurries away to the sea, growing larger 
and stronger as it runs, curling and eddying 
among the rocks, and sweeping between the high 
hills where the grape-vines grow and the solemn 
old castles stand ? 

How people come from far and near to see and 
to sail upon the beautiful river ! And the chil- 
dren who are so blessed as to be born near it, 
and to play on its shores through all the happy 
young years of their lives, although they may go 
far away from it in the after years, never, never 
forget the dear and beautiful River Rhine. 

It is only a few miles away from the Rhine — 


LOUISE. 


tog 


perhaps too far for you to walk, but not too far 
for me — that we shall find a fine large house; a 
house with pleasant gardens about it, broad 
gravel walks, and soft, green grass-plats to play 
upon, and gay flowering trees and bushes, while 
the rose-vines are climbing over the piazza, and 
opening rose-buds are peeping in at the chamber- 
windows. 

Isn’t this a pleasant house ? I wish we could 
all live in as charming a home, by as blue and 
lovely a river, and with as large and sweet a 
garden ; or, if we might have such a place for 
our school, how delightful it would be ! 

Here lives Louise, my blue-eyed, sunny-haired 
little friend ; and here in the garden she plays 
with Fritz and sturdy little Gretchen. And here 
too, at evening, the father and mother come to 
sit on the piazza among the roses ; and the chil- 
dren leaye their games, to nestle together on the 
steps while the dear brother Christian plays softly 
and sweetly on his flute. 

Louise is a motherly child, already eight years 
old, and always willing and glad to take care of 
the younger ones ; indeed, she calls Gretchen /ler 


1 10 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


baby, and the little one loves dearly her child- 
mamma. 

They live in this great house, and they have 
plenty of toys and books, and plenty of good food, 
and comfortable little beds to sleep in at night ; 
although, like Jeannette’s, they are only neat little 
boxes built against the side of the wall. 

But near them, in the valley, live the poor 
people, in small, low houses ; they eat black bread, 
wear coarse clothes, and even the children must 
work all day that they may have food for to- 
morrow. 

The mother of Louise is a gentle, loving 
woman ; she says to her children, “Dear children, 
to-day we are rich, we can have all that we want ; 
but we will not forget the poor. You may some 
day be poor yourselves ; and, if you learn now what 
poverty is, you will be more ready to meet it 
when it comes.” So, day after day, the great 
stove in the kitchen is covered with stew-pans 
and kettles, in which are cooking dinners for the 
sick and the poor ; and day after day, as the dinner- 
hour draws near, Louise will come, and Fritz, and 
even little Gretchen, saying, “ Mother, may I 


LOUISE. 


Ill 


go?” '‘May I go?” and the mother answers, 
“Dear children, you shall all go together;” and 
she fills the bowls and baskets, and sends her 
sunny-hearted children down into the valley to 
old Hans the gardener, who has been lame with 
rheumatism so many years ; and to young Marie, 
the pale, thin girl, who was so merry and rosy- 
cheeked in the vineyard a year ago ; and to the' 
old, old woman with the brown wrinkled face and 
bowed head, who sits always in the sunshine 
before the door, and tries to knit ; but the needles 
drop from the poor trembling hands, and the 
stitches slip off, and she cannot see to pick them 
up. She is too deaf to hear the children as they 
come down the road ; and she is nodding her poor 
old head, and feeling about in her lap for the lost 
needle, when Louise, with her bright eyes, spies 
it, picks it up, and, before the old woman knows 
she has come, a soft little hand is laid in the 
brown, wrinkled one, and the little girl is shout- 
ing in her ear, that she has brought some dinner 
from mamma. It makes a smile shine in the old, 
half-blind eyes. It is always the happiest part of 
the day to her when the dear little lady comes 


1 12 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


with her dinner. And it made Louise happy too, 
for nothing repays us so well as what we do 
unselfishly for others. 

These summer days are full of delight for the 
children. It is not all play for them, to be sure ; 
but then, work is often even more charming than 
play, as I think some little girls know when they 
have been helping their mothers, — running of 
errands, dusting the furniture, and sewing little 
squares of patchwork, that the baby may have a 
cradle-quilt made entirely by her little sister. 

Louise can knit, and, indeed, every child and 
woman in that country knits. You would almost 
laugh to see how gravely the little girl takes out 
her stocking ; for she has really begun her first 
stocking, and sits on the piazza-steps for an hour 
every morning at work. Then the little garden, 
which she calls her own, must be weeded. The 
gardener would gladly do it ; but Louise has a 
hoe of her own, which her father bought in the 
spring, and, bringing it to his little daughter, 
said, “ Let me see how well my little girl can 
take care of her own garden.” And the child 
has tried very hard : sometimes, it is true, she 


LOUISE. 


II3 

would let the weeds grow pretty high before they 
were pulled up ; but, on the whole, the garden 
promises well, and there are buds on her moss- 
rose bush. It is good to take care of a garden ; 
for, besides the pleasure the flowers can bring 
us, we learn how watchful we must be to root 
out the weeds, and how much trimming and care 
the plants need : so we learn how to watch over 
our own hearts. 

She has books, too, and studies a little each 
day, — studies at home with her mother, for there 
is no school near enough for her to go to it ; and 
while she and Fritz are so young, their mother 
teaches them : while Christian, who is already 
more than twelve years old, has gone to the 
school upon that beautiful hill which can be 
seen from Louise’s chamber-window, — the school 
where a hundred boys and girls are studying 
music. For, ever since he was a baby, Christian 
has loved music ; he has sung the very sweetest 
little songs to Louise, while she was yet so young 
as to lie in her cradle ; and he has whistled, until 
the birds among the bushes would answer him 
again ; and now, when he comes home from 


1 14 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

school to spend some long summer Sunday, he 
always brings the flute, and pla^s, as I told you 
in the beginning of the story. 

When the summer days are over, what comes 
next } You do not surely forget the autumn, 
when the leaves of the maples turn crimson and 
yellow, and the oaks are red and brown, and you 
scuff your feet along the path ankle-deep in fallen 
leaves. 

On the banks of the Rhine, the autumn is 
not quite like ours. You shall see how our 
children of the great house will spend an autumn 
day. 

Their father and mother have promised to go 
with them to the vineyards as soon as the grapes 
are ripe enough for gathering, and on this sunny 
September morning the time has really come. 

In the great covered baskets are slices of 
bread and German sausage, bottles of milk and 
of beer, and plenty of fresh and delicious prunes ; 
for the prune orchards are loaded with ripe fruit. 
This is their dinner ; for they will not be home 
until night. 

Oh, what a charming day for the children ! 


LOUISE. 


5 


Little Gretchen is rolling in the grass with de- 
light, while Louise runs to bring her own little 
basket, in which to gather grapes. 

They must ride in the broad old family car- 
riage, for the little ones cannot walk so far ; 
but, when they reach the river, they will take 
a boat with white sails, and go down to where 
the steep steps and path lead up on the other 
side, up the sunny green bank to the vine- 
yard, where already the peasant-girls have been 
at work ever since sunrise. Here the grapes 
are hanging in heavy, purple clusters ; the sun 
has warmed them through and through, and 
made them sweet to the very heart. Oh, how 
delicious they are, and how beautiful they look, 
heaped up in the tall baskets, which the girls 
and women are carrying on their heads! How 
the children watch these peasant-girls, all dressed 
in neat little jackets and many short skirts, one 
above another, red and blue, white and green. 
On their heads are the baskets of grapes ; and 
they never drop nor spill them, but carry them 
steadily down the steep, narrow path to ^,he 
great vats, where the young men stand on short 


1 1 6 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

ladders to reach* the top, and pour in the purple 
fruit. Then the grapes are crushed till the 
purple juice runs out; and that is wine, — such 
wine as even the children may drink in their 
little silver cups, for it Is even better than milk. 
You may be sure that they have some at dinner- 
time, when they cluster round the flat rock below 
the dark stone castle, with the warm noonday 
sun streaming across their mossy table ; and the 
mother opens the basket, and gives to every one 
a share. 

Below them is the river, with its boats and 
beautiful shining water ; behind them are the 
vine-covered walls of that old castle, where two 
hundred years ago lived armed knights and 
stately ladies ; and all about them is the rich 
September air, full of the sweet fragrance of 
the grapes, and echoing with the songs and 
laughter of the grape-gatherers. On their rocky 
table are purple bunches of fruit, in their cups 
the new wine-juice, and in their hearts all the 
joy of the merry grape season. 

There are many days like this in the autumn ; 
but the frost will come at last^ and the snow 


LOUISE. 


II7 


too. This is winter ; but winter brings the best 
pleasure of all. 

When two weeks of the winter had nearly 
passed, the children, as you may suppose, began 
to think of Christmas ; and, indeed, their best and 
most loving friend had been preparing for them 
the sweetest of Christmas presents. Ten days 
before Christmas it came, however. Can you 
guess what it was ? Something for all of them, 
— something which Christian will like just as 
well as little Gretchen will, and the father and 
mother will perhaps be more pleased than any 
one else. 

Do you know what it is ? What do you think 
of a little baby brother, — a little round, sweet, 
blue-eyed baby brother as a Christmas present 
for them all ? 

When Christmas Eve came, the mother said, 
“ The children must have their Christmas-tree 
in my room, for baby is one of the presents ; and 
I don’t think I can let him be carried out, and 
put upon the table in the hall, where we had it 
last year.” 

So all day long the children are kept away from 


Il8 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

their mother’s room. Their father comes home 
with his great-coat pockets very full of some- 
thing ; but, of course, the children don’t know 
what. He comes and goes, up stairs and down ; 
and, while they are all at play in the snow, a 
fine young fir tree is brought in and carried up. 
Louise knows it, for she picked up a fallen 
branch upon the stairs ; but she doesn’t tell 
Fritz and Gretchen. 

How they all wait and long for the night to 
come ! They sit at the windows, watching the 
red sunset light upon the snow, and cannot think 
of playing or eating their supper. The parlor- 
door is open, and all are waiting and listening. 
A little bell rings, and in an instant there is a 
scampering up the broad stairs to the door of 
mother’s room ; again the little bell rings, and 
the door is opened wide by their father, who 
stands hidden behind it. 

At the foot of their mother’s white-curtained 
bed stands the little fir-tree ; tiny candles are 
burning all over it like little stars, and glitter- 
ing golden fruits are hanging among the dark- 
green branches. On the white-covered table are 


LOUISE. 


19 


laid Fritz’s sword and Gretchen’s big doll, they 
being too heavy for the tree to hold. Under the 
branches Louise finds charming things ; such a 
little work-box as it is a delight to see, with 
a lock and key, and, inside, thimble and scis- 
sors and neat little spools of silk and thread. 
Then there are the fairy stories of the old Black 
Forest, and that most charming of all little 
books, “ The White Cat ; ” an ivory cup and 
ball for Fritz. Do you remember where the 
ivory comes from } And, lest baby Hans should 
think himself forgotten, there is ari ivory rattle 
for him. 

There he lies in the nurse’s arms, his blue 
eyes wide open with wonder; and in a minute 
the children, with arms full of presents, have 
gathered round the old woman’s arm-chair, — 
gathered round the best and sweetest little Christ- 
mas present of all. And the happy mother, who 
sits up among the pillows taking her supper, 
while she watches her children, forgets to eat, 
and leaves the gruel to grow cold ; but her heart 
is warm enough. 

Why is not Christian here to-night ? In the 


120 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS, 


school of music, away on the hill, he is singing 
a grand Christmas hymn, with a hundred young 
voices to join him. It is very grand and sweet, 
full of thanks and of love. It makes the little 
boy feel nearer to all his loved ones ; and in his 
heart he is thanking the dear Father who has 
given them that best little Christmas present, 
— the baby. 


LOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE 
WESTERN FOREST. 


There are many things happening in this 
world, dear children, — things that happen to 
you yourselves day after day, which you are too 
young to understand at the time. By and by, 
when you grow to be as old as I am, you will 
remember and wonder about them all. 

Now, it was just one of these wonderful things, 
too great for the young children to understand, 
that happened to our little Louise and her 
brothers and sister, when the Christmas time 
had come round again, and the baby was more 
than a year old. 

It was a cold, stormy night ; there were great 
drifts of snow, and the wind was driving it 
against the windows. In the beautiful great 
parlor, beside the bright fire, sat the sweet, gen- 
tle mother, and in her lap lay the stout little 


121 


122 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS, 


Hans. The children had their little chairs before 
the fire, and watched the red and yellow flames, 
while Louise had already taken out her knitting- 
work. 

They were all very still ; for their father seemed 
sad and troubled, and the children were wonder- 
ing what could be the matter. Their mother 
looked at them and smiled ; but, after all, it was 
only a sad smile. I think it is hardest for the 
father, when he can no longer give to wife and 
children their pleasant home ; but, if they can 
be courageous and happy when they have to give 
it up, it makes his heart easier and brighter. 

“ I must tell the children to-night,” said the 
father, looking at his wife ; and she answered 
quite cheerfully, “Yes, tell them; they will not 
be sad about it, I know.” 

So the father told to his wondering little ones, 
that he had lost all his money ; the beautiful 
great house and gardens were no longer his ; 
and they must all leave their pleasant home 
near the ’ Rhine, and cross the great, tossing 
ocean, to find a new home among the forests or 
the prairies. 


LOUISE. 


123 


As you may suppose, the children didn’t fully 
understand this. I don’t think you would your- 
self. You would be quite delighted with the 
packing and moving, and the pleasant journey 
in the cars, and the new and strange things you 
would see on board the ship ; and it would be 
quite a long time before you could really know 
what it was to lose your own dear home. 

So the children were not sad ; you know their 
mother said they would not be. But when they 
were safely tucked up in their little beds, and 
tenderly kissed by the most loving lips, Louise 
could not go to sleep for thinking of this strange 
moving, and wondering what they should carry, 
and how long they should stay. For she had 
herself once been on a visit to her uncle in the 
city, carrying her clothes in a new little square 
trunk, and riding fifty miles in the cars ; and 
she thought it would be quite a fine thing, that 
they should all pack up trunks full of clothing, 
and go together on even a longer journey. 

A letter had been written to tell Christian, 
and the next day he came home from the school. 
His uncles in the city begged him to stay with 


124 the seven little sisters. 

them ; but the boy said earnestly, “ If my father 
must cross the sea, I too must go with him.” 

They waited only for the winter’s cold to pass 
away ; and, when the first robins began to sing 
among the naked trees, they had left the fine 
large house, — left the beautiful gardens where 
the children used to play ; left the great, com- 
fortable arm-chairs and sofas, the bookcases and 
tables, and the little beds beside the wall. 
Besides their clothes, they had taken nothing 
with them but two great wooden chests full of 
beautiful linen sheets and table-cloths. These 
had been given to the mother by her mother 
long ago, before any of the children were born ; 
and they must be carried to the new home. 
You will see, by and by, how glad the family 
all were to have them. 

Did you ever go on board a ship ? It is almost 
like a great house upon the water ; but the 
rooms in it are very small, and so are the 
windows. Then there is the long deck, where 
we may walk in the fresh air, and watch the 
water and the sea-birds, or the sailors at work 
upon the high masts among the ropes, and the 


LOUISE. 


125 


white sails that spread out like a white bird’s 
wings, and sweep the ship along over the water. 

It was in such a ship that our children found 
themselves, with their father and mother, when 
the snow was gone, and young grass was begin- 
ning to spring up on the land. But of this 
they could see nothing, for in a day they had 
flown on the white wings far out over the water ; 
and as Louise clung to her father’s hand, and 
stood upon the deck at sunset, she saw only 
water and sky all about on every side, and the 
red clouds of the sunset. It was a little sad, and 
quite strange to her ; but her younger brothers 
and sisters were already asleep in the small beds 
of the ship, which, as perhaps you know, are built 
up against the wall, just as their beds were at 
home. Louise kissed her father, and went down, 
too, to bed ; for you must know that on board ship 
you go down stairs to bed instead of np stairs. 
After all, if father, mother, brother, and sister 
can still cling to each other, and love each other, 
it makes little difference where they are ; for love 
is the best thing in the universe, and nothing is 
good without it. 


26 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


They lived for many clays in the ship ; and 
the children, after a little time, were not afraid 
to run about the deck, and talk with the sailors, 
who were always very kind to them. And Louise 
felt quite at home sitting in her little chair 
beside the great mast, while she knit upon her 
stocking, — a little stocking now, one for the 
baby. 

Christian had brought his flute, and at night 
he played to them as he used at home ; and, 
indeed, they were all so doving and happy 
together, that it was not much sorrow to lose 
the home while they kept each other. 

Sometimes a hard day would come, when the 
clouds swept over them, and the rain and the 
great waves tossed the ship, makfng them all 
sick, and sad too, for a time ; but the sun was 
sure to come out at last, as I can assure you it 
always will ; and, on the whole, it was a pleasant 
journey for them all. 

It was a fine, sunny May-day when they reached 
the land again. No time, though, for them to 
go Maying ; for only see how much is to be 
done ! Here are all the trunks and the linen- 


LOUISE. 


127 


chests, and all the children, too, to be disposed 
of ; and they are to stop but two days in this 
city. Then they must be ready for a long 
journey in the cars and steamboats, up the rivers 
and across lakes, and sometimes for miles and 
miles through woods where they see no houses 
nor people, excepting here and there a single 
log cabin with two or three ragged children at 
play outside, or a baby creeping over the door- 
step ; while farther on, among the trees, stands a 
man with his axe, cutting, with heavy blows, some 
tall trees into such logs as those of which the 
house is built. 

These are new and strange sights to the chil- 
dren of the River Rhine. They wonder, and often 
ask their parents, if they, too, shall live in a little 
log house like that. 

How fresh and fragrant the new logs are for 
the dwelling, and how sweet the pine and spruce 
boughs for a bed ! A good new log house in the 
green v/oods is the best home in the world. 

Oh, how heartily tired they all are when at 
last they stop ! They have been riding by day 
and by night. The children have fallen asleep 


128 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


with heads curled down iijDon their arms upon 
the seats of the car, and the mother has had 
very hard work to keep little Hans contented and 
happy. But here at last they have stopped. Here 
is the new home. 

They have left the cars at a very small town. 
It has ten or twelve houses and one store ; and 
they have taken here a great wagon with three 
horses to carry them yet a few miles farther to 
a lonely, though beautiful place. It is on the 
edge of a forest. The trees are very tall, their 
trunks moss-covered ; and, when you look far in 
among them, it is so dark that no sunlight seems 
to fall on the brown earth. But out here is sun- 
shine, and the young spring grass and wild flowers, 
different from those which grow on the Rhine 
banks. 

But where is their house } 

Here is indeed something new for them. It is 
almost night ; no house is near, and they have no 
sleeping-place but the great wagon. But their 
cheerful mother packs them all away in the back 
part of the wagon, on some straw, covering them 
with shawls as well as she can, and bids them 


LOUISE. t^9 

good-night, saying “You can see the stars when- 
ever you open your eyes.” 

It is a new bed and a hard one. However, the 
children are tired enough to sleep well ; but they 
woke very early, as you or I certainly should if 
we slept in the great concert-hall of the birds. 
Oh, how those birds of the woods did begin to 
sing, long before sunrise! And Christian was 
out from his part of the bed in a minute, and off 
four miles to the store, to buy some bread for 
breakfast. 

An hour after sunrise he was back again ; and 
Louise had gathered sticks, of which her father 
made a bright fire. And now the mother is teach- 
ing her little daughter how to make tea, and Fritz 
and Gretchen are poking long sticks into the 
ashes to find the potatoes which were hidden 
there to roast. 

To them it is a beautiful picnic, like those 
happy days in the grape season ; but Louise can 
see that her mother is a little grieved at having 
them sleep in the wagon, with no house to cover 
them. And, when breakfast is over, she says to 
the father that the children must be taken back 


130 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


to the village to stay until the house is built. 
He, too, had thought so ; and the mother and 
children go back to the little town. 

Christian alone stays with his father, working 
with his small axe as his father does with the 
large one ; but to both it is very hard work to cut 
trees, because it is something they have never 
done before. They do their best ; and, when he 
is not too tired, Christian whistles to cheer him- 
self. 

After the first day, a man is hired to help ; and 
it is not a great while before the little house is 
built, — built of great, rough logs, still covered 
with brown bark and moss. All the cracks are 
stuffed with moss to keep out the rain and cold, 
and there is one window and a door. 

It is a poor little house to come to after leaving 
the grand old one by the Rhine, but the children 
are delighted when their father comes with the 
great wagon to take them to their new home. 

And into this house one summer night they 
come, — without beds, tables, or chairs ; really with 
nothing but the trunks and linen-chests. The 
dear old linen-chests, see only how very useful they 











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LOUISE. 


131 

have become ! What shall be the supper-table 
for this first meal in the new house? What 
but the largest of the linen-chests, round which 
they all gather, some sitting on blocks of wood, 
and the little ones standing ! And, after supper, 
what shall they have for beds ? What but the 
good old chests again ! For many and many a 
day and night they are used ; and the mother is, 
over and over again, thankful that she brought 
them. 

As the summer days go by, the children pick 
berries in the woods and meadows ; and Fritz 
is feeling himself a great boy, when his father 
expects him to take care of the old horse, blind 
of one eye, bought to drag the loads of wood 
to market. 

Louise is learning to love the grand old trees 
where the birds and squirrels live. She sits for 
hours with her work on some mossy cushion 
under the great waving boughs ; and she is so 
silent and gentle that the squirrels learn to come 
very near her, turning their heads every minute 
to see if she is watching, and almost laughing 
at her with their sharp, bright eyes; while they 


132 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


are cramming their cheeks full of nuts, — not to 
eat now, you know, but to carry home to the 
storehouses in some comfortable hollow trees, 
to be saved for winter use. When the snow 
comes, you see, they will not be able to find any 
nuts. 

One day Louise watched them, until she sud- 
denly thought, “ Why don’t we, too, save nuts for 
the winter ? ” and the next day she brought a 
basket and the younger children, instead of her 
knitting-work. They frightened away the squir- 
rels, to be sure, but they carried home a fine large 
basketful of nuts. 

Oh, how much might be seen in those woods on 
a summer day ! — birds, and flowers, and such 
beautiful moss ! I have seen it myself, so soft 
and thick, better than the softest cushion to sit 
on, and then so lovely to look at, with its long, 
bright feathers of green. 

Sometimes Louise has seen the quails going 
out for a walk ; the mother with her seven babies 
all tripping primly along behind her, the wee, 
brown birds, and all running, helter-skelter, in a 
minute, if they hear a noise among the bushes. 


LOUISE. 


133 


and hiding, each one, his head under a hroad leaf, 
thinking, poor little foolish things, that no one 
can see them ! 

Christian whistles to the quails a long, low call : 
they will look this way and that, and listen, and at 
last really run towards him without fear. 

Before winter comes, the log house is made 
more comfortable : beds and chairs are bought, 
and a great fire burns in the fireplace. But, do 
the best they can, the rain will beat in between the 
logs ; and, after the first snow-storm one night, a 
white pointed drift is found on the breakfast-table. 
They laugh at it, and call it ice-cream ; but they 
almost feel more like crying, with cold, blue fin- 
gers and toes, that even the warm knit stockings 
can’t keep comfortable. Never mind, the swift 
snow-shoes will make them skim over the snow- 
crust like birds flying, and the merry sled- 
rides that brother Christian will give them will 
make up for all the trouble. They will soon love 
the winter in the snowy woods. 

Their clothes, too, are all wearing out. Fritz 
comes to his mother with great holes in his jacket- 
sleeves, and poor Christian’s knees are blue and 


34 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


frostbitten through the torn trousers. What 
shall be done 

Louise brings out two old coats of her father’s. 
Christian is wrapped in one from head to foot ; 
and Fritz looks like the oddest little man with his 
great coat muffled around him, crossed in front 
and buttoned arhund behind, while the long 
sleeves can be turned back almost to his shoul- 
ders. Funny enough he looks; but it makes him 
quite warm, and in this biting wind who would 
think of the looks ? So our little friend is to 
drive poor old Major to town with a sled-load of 
wood every day, while his father and brother are 
cutting trees in the forest. 

Should you laugh to see a boy so dressed com- 
ing up the street with a load of wood ^ Perhaps 
you wouldn’t if you knew how cold he would be 
without this coat, and how much he hopes to 
get the half-dollar for his wood, and bring home 
bread and meat for supper. 

How wise the children grow in this hard work 
and hard life! Fritz feels himself a little man; 
and Louise, I am sure, is as useful as many a 
woman, for she is learning to cook and tend the 


LOUISE. 


135 


fire ; while even Gretchen has some garters to 
knit, and takes quite good care of the baby. 

Little Hans will never remember the great 
house by the Rhine, he was too little when they 
came away ; but by and by he will like to hear 
stories about it, which, you may be sure, Louise 
will often tell her little brother. 

The winter is the hardest time. When Christ- 
mas comes, there is not even a tree ; for there 
are no candles to light one, and no presents to 
give. But there is one beautiful gift which they 
may and do all give to eqch other ; it makes 
them happier than many toys or books : it is 
love. It makes even this cold, dreary Christmas 
bright and beautiful to them. 

Next winter will not be so hard : for in the 
spring corn will be planted, and plenty of pota- 
toes and turnips and cabbages ; and they will 
have enough to eat, and something to sell for 
money. 

But I must not stay to tell you more now of 
the backwoods life of Louise and her brothers 
and sister. If you travel some day to the West, 
perhaps you will see her yourself, gathering her 


136 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


nuts under the trees, or sitting in the sun on 
the door-step with her knitting. Then you will 
know her for the little sister who has perhaps 
come closest to your heart, and you will clasp 
each other’s hands in true affection. 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 


Here, dear children, are your seven little 
sisters. Let us count them over. First came 
the brown baby, then Agoonack, Gemila, Jean- 
nette, Pen - se, Manenko, and Louise. Seven 
little sisters I have called them ; but Mamie 
exclaims, “ How can they be sisters, when some 
are black, some brown, and some white ; when 
one lives in the warm country, and another in 
the cold, and Louise upon the shores of the 
Rhine ? Sallie and I are sisters, because we 
have the same father, and live here together in 
the same house by the sea-side ; but as for those 
seven children, I can’t believe them to be sisters 
at all.” 

Now, let us suppose, my dear little girl, that 
your sister Sallie should go away, — far away 
in a ship across the ocean to the warm countries ; 


137 


138 THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

and the sun should burn her face and hands, 
and make them so brown that you would hardly 
know her, — wouldn’t she still be your sister 
Sallie ? 

And suppose even that she should stay away 
in the warm countries, and never come back 
again, wouldn’t she still be your dear sister ? 
and wouldn’t you write her letters, and tell her 
about home and all that you love there ? 

I know you would. 

And now, just think if you yourself should 
take a great journey through ice and snow, and 
go to the cold countries, up among the white 
bears and the sledges and dogs ; suppose, even, 
that you should have an odd little dress of white 
bear-skin, like Agoonack, wouldn’t you think it 
very strange if Sallie shouldn’t call you her 
little sister just because you were living up there 
among the ice "I 

And what if Minnie, too, should take it into 
her head to sail across the seas, *and live in a 
boat on a Chinese river, like Pen-se, and drive 
the ducks, eat rice with chop-sticks, and have 
fried mice for dinner : why, you might not want 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 139 

to dine with her ; but she would be your sweet, 
loving sister all the same, wouldn’t she ? 

I can hear you say “Yes” to all this; but 
then you will add, “Father is our father the 
same all the time ; and he isn’t Pen-se’s father, 
nor Manenko’s.” 

Let us see what makes you think he is your 
father. Because he loves you so much, and gives 
you every thing that you have, — clothes to wear, 
and food to eat, and fire to warm you } 

Did he give you this new little gingham frock ? 
Shall we see what it is made of } If you ravel out 
one end of the cloth, you can find the little threads 
of cotton which are woven together to make your 
frock. Where did the cotton come from ? 

It grew in the hot fields of the South, where 
the sun shines very warmly. Your father didn’t 
make it grow, neither did any man. It is true, a 
man, a poor black man, and a very sad man he 
was too, put the little seeds into the ground ; but 
they would never have grown if the sun hadn’t 
shone, the soft earth nourished, and the rain 
moistened them. And who made the earth, and 
sent the sun and the rain ? 


140 THE SEVEN LITTLE S/STEES. 


That must be somebody very kind and thought- 
ful, to take so much care of the little cotton- 
seeds. I think that must be a father. 

Now, what did you have for breakfast this 
morning } 

A sweet Indian cake with your egg and mug 
of milk } I thought so. Who made this break- 
fast } Did Bridget make the cake in the kitchen } 
Yes, she mixed the meal with milk and salt and 
sugar. But where did she get the meal } The 
miller ground the yellow corn to make it. But 
who made the corn 

The seeds were planted as the cotton-seecis 
were, and the same kind care supplied sun and 
rain and earth for them. Wasn’t that a father } 
Not your father who sits at the head of the 
table and helps you at dinner, who takes you to 
walk and tells you stories, but another Father; 
your Father, too, he must be, for he is certainly 
taking care of you. 

And doesn’t he make the corn grow, also, on 
that ant-hill behind Manenko’s house } He seems 
to take the same care of her as of you. 

Then the milk and the egg. They come from 


THE SEVEN LITTLE S/S TEES. . 14 ! 


the hen and the cow ; but who made the hen 
and the cow ? 

It was the same kind Father again, who made 
them for you, and made the camels and goats for 
Gemila and Jeannette ; who made also the wild 
bees, and taught them to store their honey in the 
trees, for Manenko ; who made the white rice 
grow and ripen for little Pen-se, and the sea-birds 
and the seals for Agoonack. To every one good 
food to eat, — and more than that; for must it 
not be a very loving father who has made for us 
all the beautiful sky, and the stars at night, and 
the blue sea ; who sent the soft wind to rock the 
brown baby to sleep and sing her a song, and the 
grand march of the Northern lights for Agoonack, 
— grander and more beautiful than any of the 
fire-works, you know ; and the red strawberries for 
little Jeannette to gather, and the beautiful chest- 
nut woods on the mountain-side ? Do you remem- 
ber all these things in the stories ? 

And wasn’t it the same tender love that made 
the sparkling water and sunshine for Pen-se, and 
the shining brown ducks for her, too ; the springs 
in the desert and the palm-trees for Gemila, as 


( 4 ^ 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SLSTEES. 


well as the warm sunshine for Manenko, and the 
beautiful River Rhine for Louise ? 

It must be a very dear father who gives his 
children not only all they need for food and 
clothing, but so many, many beautiful things to • 
enjoy. 

Don’t you see that they must all be his chil- 
dren, and so all sisters, and that he is your 
Father too, who makes the mayflowers bloom, 
and the violets cover the hills, and turns the 
white blossoms into black, sweet berries in the 
autumn } It is your dear and kind Father who 
does all this for his children. He has very many 
children : some of them live in houses, and some 
in tents ; some in little huts, and some under the 
trees ; in the warm countries and in the cold. 
And he loves them all : they are his children, and 
.they are brothers and sisters. Shall they not 
love each other ? 


VOCABULARY 


SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS 

PART I 

PRONUNCIATION. — a, e, i, o, ii, as in fate, mete, site, rope, tube ; 5, 
I, I, 6, u, as in hat, met, bit, not, cut ; a, e, i, o, ii, as in far, her, fir, nor, 
cur ; a, e, i, o, u, as in mental, travel, peril, idol, forum ; ee, as in feet ; 66 
as in hoot ; 6u, as in bough ; 6u, as in croup. 


Abdel, Ab'-del. 

Agoonack, A-gocy-ack. 
Alee, A'-lee, 

Chiken, She'-ken. 

Chow, Chou. 

Esquimau, Es'-ke-mo. 
Esquimaux,//., Es'-ke-mo. 
Faw Choo, Faw' Choo'. 
Gemila, Jem'-e-la. 

Gretchen, Gret'-hyen. 
Ilassan, Has'-san. 

Jean, Jeen. 

Jeannette, Jen-net'. 
Kang-hy, Kang'-hy'. 
Khamasseen, Kam-as-seen'. 
Kina, Ke'-na. 

Kittar, Kit-tar', 

Kodi, Ko' de. 

Koran, Ko'-ran. 

Kordofan, Kor'-d5-fan. 
Korosko, K5-ros'-k5. 


Koyenna, Ko-yen'-na. 
Kudlunah, K66d-166'-nah. 
Kuugo, Koong'-go. 

Kyak, Ki'-ak. 

Leighton, Ly-tn. 

Liebe Mutter, Le'-by M66t'-ter. 
Lignum Vitae, Lig'-num Vi'-te. 
Li-hoo, LI'-hoo'. 

Lin, Ling. 

Lou, Lou. 

Louise, L66-ez'. 

Malonda, Mal-6n'-da. 

Manenko, Man-enk'-ko. 
Maunka, Ma-o6nk'-ka. 
Nannook, Nan'-nook. 

Pen-se, Pen'-se. 

Ra, Ry 

Sekomi, Se-ko-me. 

Simel, Se'-mel. 

Sipsu, Sip'-soo. 

Zungu, Zbong'-goo. 


143 




Y SUCCESS 

• IN INTRODUCING 


p<00D s READING 

IN A COUNTRY SCHOOL. 


“ There are country children who attend school twenty-four weeks in a 
year, read from dry, worn-out reading books, and have parents at home 
with minds perfectly barren except for thoughts about getting a living. 
These children spend the lonely, quiet evenings, which might be made so 
full of glad opportunity, in perfect idleness and apathy, their only pleas- 
ure being in the gratification of appetite. There is just one reason why 
these must grow into carnally minded, ignorant, narrow men and women. 
No one furnishes them with reading at home.” — Lejid a Ha 7 id. 

With this for my text, let me tell the story of one school in Wisconsin. 

One day last Spring, a Miss Campbell, from Station, (in the town 

of ), was sent to me by one of the Madison teachers, to ask my 

advice in regard to supplementary reading in her school. She told me 
that her scholars had lost all interest in their Thursday afternoon exer- 
cises, reading, speaking pieces, etc., because they had only old reading 
books from which they had read and spoken, till they knew the greater 
part of them by heart. She thought, that if she could introduce some 
really interesting book, it would improve the work, and also help in form- 
ing a taste for good reading. After looking over various books suited for 
such a purpose, she selected “Young Folks’ Robinson Crusoe” saying, 
“The children are not up to anything more than a story, yet. I’ll take 
this ae my first step. If they work well with this, we can go on to some- 
thing higher.” This “Robinson Crusoe” was written by Mrs. Eliza 
Farrar, wife of Prof John Farrar, of Harvard College, and was first pub- 
lished more than fifty years ago. In Mrs. Farrar’s “ Address to Parents ” 
which prefaces the book, she says, “ The Author thinks, with Rousseau, 
that Robinson Crusoe might be made a great instrument in the education! 

Protn Wisconsin Journal of Educatio?i for November^ 1888 


Good Reading. 


of children, leading their minds to philosophical investigation or maw's 
social nature, and introducing them to trains of thought which no other 
story can so well suggest.” The present edition is edited by William T. 
Adams (Oliver Optic), who says, “It is the only Robinson Crusoe read 
by the editor, till within a few years, and was the standard edition in use 
by those in this vicinity (Boston) who read children’s books half a cen- 
tury ago.” Six of Miss Campbell’s pupils decided to buy this book, one 
boy buying it with his own earnings, he was so anxious to own it. 
These, with the copy which I lent her, sufficed for class use. The chil- 
dren were enthusiastic, the reading class was rejuvenated, and the prog- 
ress in good reading was in proportion to the enthusiasm. 

I also lent Miss Campbell the Chapters on Ants in “ Nature Readers,” 
the most satisfactory books for instructing children in Natural History 
with which I have ever met. She used this book for a time for drawinsr 

o 

exercises. She had each child bring an ant as an illustration to the text, 
and after getting them intensely interested in finding out from tlie real 
creatures what is told of them in the book, she led them to observ. the 
homes of the ants and their mode of work, opening their e'^^s to the 
wonders which one meets, even in the daily prosaic walk to school. 

I lent her also “ The Seven Little Sisters Who Live on the Round 
Ball that Floats in the Air” (published by Lee & Shepard), which de- 
.= ''.*ibes the child life of seven different races. Tliis book was first pub- 
lished in i86i, and has since been through edition after edition, its value 
being so generally acknowledged. The superintendent of schools in 
Janesville, Mr. C. H. Keyes, spoke of it in an educational meeting at 
Madison, as the first book which aroused his intellectual life, and he has 
since told me that there are nearly twelve hundred children in Janesville, 
Wisconsin, who can almost say it by heart. A tea:her of seventeen years 
record once told me that one class in geographj baffled her bes* efforts 
till she threw aside all the so-called text-books, and used only " "^hQ 


Good Reading. 


Seven Little Sisters” as a manual. From that time the class becam«» 
successful and enthusiastic. This book is used as supplementary read- 
ing in the schools of Boston, Mass., and also in very many other schools 
throughout the country. I give the account of these books rather 
minutely, that it may be clearly seen what class of literature Miss Camp- 
bell attempted to introduce to the future men and women of Wisconsin. 

Miss Campbell’s record with “The Seven Little Sisters” is that she 
read it to the children at such times as she could secure, without neglect- 
ing their regular school work. The children enjoyed the book so much 
that some of them begged her to keep on after school hours. She had 
the scholars point out on a map the countries where the children of the 
stories lived, the home of Agoonack in the frozen north, and where 
Louise lived by the beautiful river Rhine, and she talked with them of 
the mode of life of the inhabitants of those countries. 

Now to offset all this, here let me give the record of the district. In 
July they held a school meeting, at which one of the leading men, the 
heaviest taxpayer in the* town, arose and said he should like to know why 
he was to pay his money to a teacher who brought pis?nires'‘'‘ into 
school, and taught the children about them, and who introduced “the 
NOVEL.” Several others, eager to follow their leader, echoed his senti- 
ments. As a result that school has a new teacher this term, and the 
children’s winter evenings, which might have been brightened by the 
enjoyment of new books and the fresher and broader outlook which they 
bring, are now left to plod along in the same old, dull way. But let us 
hope that the seed already sown will not prove fruitless, and that a few 
boys and girls at least are awakened to the pleasure and value of good 
reading. 

Madison, Wis. 


Mrs. William F. Allen- 


MiSS JANE ANDREW3’ OTHER BOOKS 


THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS 

WHO LIVE ON THE ROUND BALL THAT FLOATS IN THE AIR. 

From The New England Journal of Education, 

I wish to bear testimony, unasked, to the peculiar value for teachers of a little 
Dook which lies rather out of the line of text-books, and which may, therefore, 
iscape their notice. It is called “The Seven 'Little Sisters who Live on the Round 
Bali that Floats in the Air.” The round ball is, of course, the earth, and the little 
sisters represent different nations and races of men. I think that the mere reading 
of this book — read over and over, as children always read a book they like — will 
give to the young readers a more vivid impression of the shape of the earth, of 
the distribution of nations over it, and of the essential brothernood of man, than 
the study of most text-books. I understand that it has been largely used by Miss 
Garland and Miss Weston, of the Boston Kindergarten; and I should think that 
it would be invaluable not merely for such schools, but for all primary schools. It 
is very common for teachers to read aloud to their pupils some story-book at their 
closing session of the week; and “The Seven Little Sisters ” is a story-book, and z 
book of realintellectual value at the same time. T. W. HIGGINSON. 

Cloth, gilt, $1.00. School £dition, plain cloth, 50 cts. net. By mail, 55 cts 

PART II. 

The Seven Little Sisters Prove their Sisterhood. 

The author, in order to show the children of her own school how other children 
live in various parts of the world, selects seven little girls of different nationalities, 
and describes their homes, the character of their parents, and the manners and cus- 
toms of thtir people. The stories are related in a style that will please young 
folks, and will be found quite interesting to all. The book is handsomely bound, 
and is prettily illustrated, and should have a ready holiday sale. — N. E, Journal 
of Education. 

16mo, cloth, gilt, $1.00. School Edition, 50 cts. net. By mail, 65 cts. 


Messrs. Lee and Shepard, — I have carefully read “ The Seven Little 
Sisters,” by Jane Andrews. It is one of the purest and best books for 
children I have ever seen. In fact, it is the best book of its kind, known 
to me. My comments are, blessings on the memory of Jane Andrews. 
My little daughter Maud, nine years old, exclaimed, shortly after beginning 
to read it: “O Mamma, I have begun about the little brown baby and it 
is just lovely.” She became so interested that she has read the whole book 
within two or three days. 

I shall most gladly recommend this book to my fellow teachers while 
holding Institutes. 

Please send to me at such price as you can afford, for examination, 
“Jane Andrews’ Ten Boys that Lived from Long Ago until Now.” 

Yours sincerely, A. E. Haynes. 


••'rHB BEST TEACHER IH 1 HE WORLD." 

James Parton, Hislorian^ says of the author of the new book, 

WHO LIVED ON THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW, 

By Jane Andrews, author of Seven Little Sisters,” “Seven Little 
Sisters show their Sisterhood,” Geographical Plays, etc. Cloth. With . 
20 original illustrations. Library Edition, $i.oo. School Edition, 50 
cents net; by mail, 55 cents. Introducing the stories of — 

Kablu, the Aryan Boy, who came down to the plains of the Indus. 

Darius, the Persian Boy, who knew about Zoroaster. 

Cleon, the Greek Boy, who ran at the Olympic Games. 

Horatius, the Roman Boy, whose ancestor kept the bridge so well. 

Wulf, the Saxon Boy, who helped to make England. 

Gilbert, the Page, who will one day become a Knight. 

Roger, the English Lad, who longed to sail the Spanish Main. 

Ezekiel Fuller, the Puritan Boy. 

Jonathan Dawson, the Yankee Boy. 

Frank Wilson, the Boy of 1885. 

And giving entertaining and valuable information upon the manners 
'vnd customs of the different nations from Aryan age to now. 

The poet, John G. Whittier, says of it: >• 

Amesbury, nth mo. 22, 1885. 

Lee and Shepard, Boston: 

T have been reading the new book by Jane Andrews, ^*Ten Boys who Lived 
on the Road from Long Ago to Now,” which you have just published, and canno» 
forbear saying that in all my acquaintance with juvenile literature I know of nothing 
in many respects equal to this remarkable book, which contains in its small compass 
the concentrated knowledge of vast libraries. It is the admirably told story of pas/; 
centuries of the world’s progress, and the amount of study and labor required in 
its preparation seems almost appalling to contemplate. One is struck with th3 
peculiar excellence of its style, — clear, easy, graceful, and picturesque, — which t 
child cannot fail to comprehend, and in which “children of a larger growth ” wilJ 
find an irresistible charm. That it will prove a favorite with old and young i 
ha ve no doubt. It seems to me that nothing could be more enjoyable to the boy 
U our period than the story of how the boys of all ages lived and acted. 

Vours truly, 


JOHN G. WHITTIER. 


^ * 


HE STORIES 

---- MOTHER 


N ature told 

^ HERGHILDREiV 




Library Edition, cloth, illustrated, $1.00. School Edition, 50 cents net; by mail, 55 cents. 

“ Another very entertaining and instructive addition to literature for young readers- 
Mother Nature is very dear to us all, and we are constantly reading and profiting 
by the stories she tells and the lessons she teaches. In the little book before us, the 
writer groups in familiar language, some of the stories which Mother Nature tells 
about the Amber Beads, and their original home at the bottom of the sea ; about 
the evolution of the dragon fly. The trees that stand in the village streets are 
made to talk pleasantly about themselves — a species of egotism that will readily 
be pardoned. ‘How Indian Corn Grows’ is interestingly told, and something 
about the Water Lilies. The Carrying Trade and the many beneficial things it 
brings to U3 from far away countries form the subject of one chapter; there are 
several nice stories of Sea Life, including something about coral and the star fish ; 
the Frost Giants and the queer pranks they cut up; the children are given a peep 
into one of God’s storehouses, a coal mine; there’s a pretty story too about Sixty- 
two Little 'Tadpoles ; and there are other things touching animal 'and vegetable 
life. All these stories are told in language that children can easily understand. 
The aim of the writer is to fasten on the minds of her young readers impiessions 
that will be lasting — to give them an insight into the beauties and mysterious pro- 
cesses of nature and incite them to a reverent interest in and a truer appreciation 
of all these things. The child who reads the book will be elevated by it.” — St. 
A /dans Alessenger. 

“This charming little volume contains a series of short sketches that are intended 
to teach the young in an entertaining way some of the wonderful things of nature, 
and at the same time to lead their thoughts into a study of them. Thus ‘ The 
Story of the Amber Beads’ shows us how the beautiful yellow gum oozing from tlie 
pines of the Scotch highlands became the j retty amber beads we all know and 
admire ; and so we are told of the trees and flowers, the fish and the insect, and of 
one of God’s storehouses, the wonderful coal mines. One would look far before 
he would find a work so well calculated to engage the thoughtful attention of 
young minds .” — Salem Observer. 


GEOGRAPHICAL PLAYS 


Comprising United States, Europe, Asia, Africa and South America, Australia and thft 
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In one volume, cloth, Sl.OO, or in i>aper covers, six parts, 15 cents each. 

These able, suggestive, and interesting ] lays are designed as a sort of review 
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It need scarcelv be sii.l that the jjlays are well written, and are calculated to pro- 
duce an animating effect icpon a s,.hool. They are used in Boston Primary Se'hocis 
for Supplementary Reading. 

Any of these Cooks sent by Mail ui>on Receipt of price. 


LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 


* ■* m 


O NLY A YEAR 


HAT IT 
* * * BROUGHT 


By JAI^E Ar«iI>BE\VS 

Authov of “ Seven Little Sisters who Live on the Round Ball that Floats in 
the Air,” “Seven Little Sisters Prove their Sisterhood” (sequel to 
“ Seven Little Sisters”), “ Ten Boys who Lived on the Road from Long 
Ago to Now,” “ GeograpKical Plays for Young Folks at School and at 
Home,” comprising Europe, United States, Asia, Africa and South 
America, Australia and the Isles of the Sea, the Commerce of the World, 
etc. 

CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. $1.00. 

“This story illustrates the change wrought into the life of a tall, awkward, 
and selfish girl in a year’s time. The ciiange is so gradual that at first it is 
almost imperceptible, but is entirely natural and true to life. Miss Andrews 
has written a number of children’s books, and understands how to portray the 
best side of her youthful heroes and heroines without seeming to hold them up 
as examples to her readers. In her account of the trials and improvements of 
the young girl in her story, she has endeavored to .show h.er weaknesses of 
character without moralizing. She is thoroughly wide awake to all the enjoy- 
ments of girls whom she writes about, and the interesting way in which she 
helps them out of their various difficulties is entertaining.” — Concord Stntes- 
man. 

“ Among the writers of juvenile tales there are few held in higher esteem by 
their young readers than Jane Andrews; and the pre|»y volume recently 
issued that bears her name, deserves to be held in as great favor as “ Seven 
Little Sisters,” or any other of the author’s previous productions. It teaches 
an excellent moral, but it is never dry or preachy, and its representations 
of school life are accurate and entertaining. It will prove most acceptable 
to girls who have in a measure put away childish things, yet have not 
passed the line where the brook and river meet.” — Bnjffalo Commercial 
A dvertiser. 

“ The unequalled genius for entertaining and instructing children which 
distinguished Jane Andrews, finds expression also in her book.s. This one is 
probably the last that we shall have from her pen, and her recent death gives 
it a peculiar interest. The simple incidents are made the vehicle of much 
lively conversation and description. Young people will read the book with 
genuine interest and pleasure.” — Woman s Journal. 


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METHODS AND AIDS IN GEOGEAPHY 

FOB THE USE OF TEACHEBS AND NOBMAL 

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